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RIDGEiy  TORRENCE 


ABELARD    AND 
HELOISE 


ABELARD    AND 
HELOISE 


BY 

RIDGELY    TORRENCE 


'  ^V:'\'\''''\\  A 


NEW   YORK 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1907 

A/i  rights  reserved 


^\ 


Copyright,  1907,  bv 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Published,  February,  1907 


Tnow  omscTOBr 

MlliriH*  AMD  tOOKSINOIMa  COMPANY 
MEW   V0«« 


TO 
MADAME   ALLA   NAZIMOVA 


364749 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/abelardheloiseOOtorrrich 


SETTINGS 

ACT  I. — Paris.     The   Old  Isle  de  la  Cite.    A 
Garden   Court  Among  the  Houses  Belong- 
ing TO  THE  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame. 
(A  fortnight  passes.) 

ACT  II. — Fulbert's  Villa  at  Corbeil. 
(Three  months  pass,) 

ACT  III. — The  Garden  of  the  Abbey  of  Argen- 

TEUIL. 

(Twenty  years  pass.) 

ACT  IV. — A  Road  near  Chalons. 


PERSONS  OF  THE  PLAY 

FuLBERT,  Canon  of  Notre  Dame. 

Pierre  Abelard,  Master  of  the  School  of  Notre  Dame. 
Arnulph  Malart,  a  priest  of  Notre  Dame. 
Gervase,  Abelard's  favorite  student  and  friend. 
A  Ballad  Monger. 
Peter,  Abbot  of  Cluny. 

Louis  VII,  Surnamed  the  Young,  King  of  France. 
A  Page. 

A  Papal  Nuncio. 
An  Acolyte, 
astrolobus. 

Heloise,  niece  of  Fulbert. 
Luce,  her  friend  and  companion. 
Jehanne,  a  flower  girl. 
YsBEAU,  a  fruit  vender. 
Gabriella,  Abbess  of  Argenteuil. 
Monica -V 

Cecile    >-  Young  nuns  in  the  Abbey  of  Argenteuil. 
Teresa  J 

Students,  Towns-People,  Relatives  of  FulberTj  Monks, 
Nuns,  Soldiers,  Courtiers,  etc. 
Time:  First  part  of  twelfth  century. 


ABELARD    AND    HELOISE 

ACT  I 

A  Court.  Back  is  a  high,  massive  stone  wall  tn  the  centre 
of  which  is  a  gateway  having  a  ponderous  iron  door 
which  is  now  open  disclosing  a  street.  On  the  left 
of  the  court  is  the  School  of  Paris  into  which  leads  a 
single  doorway.  On  the  right  is  the  house  of  Fulbert, 
to  which  there  is  also  a  single  door  opening  on  the 
court,  which  is  therefore  completely  surrounded  by 
walls  and  has  but  the  three  exits.  Leading  to  each 
of  the  doorways,  both  that  of  Fulbert^s  house  and  that 
of  the  school,  there  is  a  flight  of  several  steps. 

Ysbeau  is  seated  upon  the  steps  of  the  school,  counting  her 
fruits. 

Enter  from  Fulbert'' s  house  Luce,  bearing  a  jar  from  which 
she  waters  the  flowers  near  the  doorstep.  Enter 
along  the  street  the  Ballad  Monger,  who  halts  in  the 
gateway. 

YSBEAU,  to  the  Ballad  Monger,  offering  her  basket  of  fruit 
Ho  there,  a  quince! 

BALLAD  MONGER 

A  ballad  for  it. 


i  XfifeLARP^  AND   HELOISE  [act  i 

YSBEAU 

Done. 

BALLAD  MONGER,  coming  forward  and  Iwlding  out  his  wares 
Make  choice. 

YSBEAU 

The  newest. 

BALLAD  MONGER,  giving  her  a  bright  parchment 
Here  then. 

He  begins   to   select   from  her  basket.     Enter   jrotn   the 
street  Jehanne  listlessly  crying  her  wares, 

JEHANNE 

Marigolds — 

She  sees  Ysbeau,  who  is  busy  with  the  Ballad  Monger  and 
does  not  notice  her. 

Ysbeau ! 

LUCE,  rising  from  the  flower  bed  and  coming  to  her 
Jehanne! 

JEHANNE 

My  Luce — 

They  embrace  and  talk  aside. 

BALLAD  MONGER,  bargaining  with  Ysbeau 

How  many? 

YSBEAU 

One. 


ACTi]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  3 

BALLAD  MONGER,  eagerly 
Add  then  your  lips. 

YSBEAU,  evading  him  and  running  to  the  two  girls 
What  news? 

The  Ballad  Monger  goes  to  the  school  steps  and  lolls  upatt 
them,  eating  his  fruit. 

LUCE 

The  school  yet  holds; 
The  Master  speaks  to-day. 

JEHANNE 

When  it  is  over 


She  clasps  her  hands  in  ecstasy. 

YSBEAU,  looking  up  at  the  school 
To  think  that  cold  stone  husk  could  hold  a  lover. 

JEHANNE 

They  think  too  much  in  there. 

YSBEAU,  peering  in  at  the  door 

If  I  could  see, 
My  thoughts  would  bring  my  Etienne  out  to  me, 

My  boy,  my  rakehell  blond 

A  bell  sounds. 

JEHANNE  and  YSBEAU  together 
The  hour! 


4  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  [act  i 

LUCE,  who  has  been  standing  apart  from  them 

At  last! 

The  Ballad  Monger  picks  up  his  lute  and  ballads  and  rises 
briskly.  Jehanne  and  Ysbeau  join  him  at  the  school 
steps  with  great  bustle  of  preparation. 

YSBEAU 

Get  ready  all! 

BALLAD  MONGER,  with  great  importance 
Form  here  the  line. 

JEHANNE 

Where's  Luce? 

LUCE,  apart  jrom  them 
I  have  no  wares  to  sell. 

YSBEAU,  to  the  Ballad  Monger,  who  gets  in  front  of  her 

Ha,  not  so  fast — 
Back,  Ballads! 

BALLAD   MONGER,    with   his   attention   eagerly   upon   the 
school  doorway 

Here  they  come! 

YSBEAU,  stamping  on  his  toe 

Back  Dreams. 

BALLAD  MONGER,  retreating  with  a  start  of  pain 

The  deuce! 


ACT  i]  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  5 

A  party  of  students  begins  to  enter  noisily  jrom  the  school, 
and  pass  through  the  court  into  the  street. 

JEHANNE,  holding  up  her  basket 
Blooms — buds — 

BALLAD   MONGER 

A  rhyme — 

YSBEAU 

Apples — 

BALLAD  MONGER 

And  songs — 

YSBEAU 

A  peach? 

Two  students  enter  arm  in  arm  and  confront  Ysbeau  and 
Jehanne. 

FIRST  STUDENT 

Ha!    Lips  and  eyes! 

YSBEAU 

Fruits? 

JEHANNE 

Flowers? 

BOTH  GIRLS,  holding  up  their  wares 

Which? 


6  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  [act  i 

SECOND   STUDENT 

Both,  from  each! 

The  two  students  draw  the  two  girls  aside  and  talk.  Luce 
still  watches  the  school  door.  A  scuffling  is  heard  within 
and  several  students  are  hustled  violently  down  the  steps. 

THE  STUDENTS 

Who  pushes? 

Voices  from  anotlier  group  who  follow  them. 
We! 

FIRST  GROUP 

By  what  right? 

SECOND  GROUP 

English  brawn? 

FIRST  GROUP 

We'll  try  it,  Germans.     Up,  good  fists. 

SECOND  GROUP 

Come  on. 

Exeunt  both  groups  brawling  through  the  street  gate.  Enter 
from  the  school  Gervase  gayly  dressed. 

GERVASE 

Air,  air  to  breathe,  I  choke  with  smoke  of  thinking. 

LUCE,  going  to  meet  him 
Ah,  my  Gervase. 


ACTi]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE 

GERVASE 


My  Luce. 


LUCE 

What  news? 

They  talk  aside.  Enter  another  group  oj  students,  Jehanne 
and  Ysbeau  leave  the  two  students  to  whom  they  were  talk- 
ing, 

JEHANNE 

Buds?- 

YSBEAU 

Grapes? 
A  STUDENT,  to  both  girls 

Hey,  sweetmeats! 

SECOND  STUDENT 

By  St.  John  here's  hues! 

FIRST   STUDENT 

And  shapes! 
The  two  students  come  down  the  steps  to  the  girls. 

FIRST  STUDENT,  to  Jehanne 
Do  I  not  know  you? 

The  two  talk  aside  to  the  girls, 

BALLAD   MONGER,   approaching  Gervase,  where  he  talks 
with  Luce 
Music? 


8  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  [act  i 

GERVASE,   looking  him  over  with  sublime  insolence 

By  what  means? 

BALLAD  MONGER,  tapping  his  lute  proudly 
This  lute. 

GERVASE,    pretending   to   examine   it   critically  atid   then 
turning  away 

A  pumpkin. 

BALLAD  MONGER,  enraged 

Dancer  of  Orleans. 

GERVASE,  turning  upon  him  fiercely 

Goose  Face  of  Paris,  dare  you  utter  quack; 
1*11  give  you  titles  till  your  beak  is  black. 
I,  Gervase  of  this  University, 
Hold  in  zoology  a  high  degree, 

He  affects  to  peer  at  the  minstrel  scientifically, 

A  head — claws — legs  to  hop  with — ah,  I  see! 
Species  verminibus — a  kind  of  flea. 

The  Ballad  Monger  retreats  in  confusion  to  the  street  and 
exit. 

Gervase  turns  again  to  Luce, 

A  STUDENT,  entering  from  the  school 
Where  is  my  tidbit  made  of  red  and  white? 


ACTi]  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  9 

Jehanne  greets  him  with  a  glad  cry  and  embraces  him. 
Enter  another  student. 

SECOND  STUDENT,  ecstatically 
Ysbeau ! 

YSBEAU,  rushing  forward  to  him 
Ah  boy! 

STUDENT 

You  waited? 

YSBEAU 

Kiss  me. 

He  kisses  her. 

ANOTHER  STUDENT,  looking  at  them 

Jesu ! 

ONE   OF  THE   STUDENTS,   talking  aside  to  Jehanne  and 
Ysbeau 

To-night — at  the  mid-hour — you  and  Jehanne 
She  bides  to-night  with  Luce — there  is  her  window. 

He  points  to  Fulberi's  house. 

'Tis  high,  but  I  am  Michael  with  the  ladder. 

YSBEAU 

O  craft! 

SECOND  STUDENT 

But  soft — or  Luce  will  learn  of  it — 
Hist — close — then  shall  we  melt  into  the  night 
And  dance  till  early  gray. 


lo  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  [act  i 


At  night. 


JEHANNE 

But  the  gate's  locked 


FIRST  STUDENT,  holding  up  a  great  key 
The  key! 

JEHANNE 

O  wonder. 

YSBEAU 

And  be  ready 

JEHAJJNE 

I  must  be  mouse  and  never  waken  Luce, 
She'd  never  let  me  go. 

The  four  draw  toward  the  gate^  whispering  beside  it,  Ger- 
vase  and  Luce  come  down  front  talking  earnestly.  A  great 
anxiety  is  upon  Luce's  face. 

GERVASE 

O  smile  sad  Queen,  it  has  not  fallen  yet. 

LUCE 

The  buzzing  grows,  the  town  is  held  at  bay. 

But  for  the  proof's  lack  though  they  know  the  truth, 

And  Fulbert  cannot  be  forever  deaf. 

GERVASE,  losing  his  effrontery  for  an  instant 
Poor  Master — 


ACTi]  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  ii 

LUCE 

Ah,  poor  Mistress. 

GERVASE,  recovering  his  assurance 

We  shall  save  them, 
He  speaks  once  more  to-day.    I  go.    A  kiss. 

They  kiss  and  he  re-enters  the  school. 

JEHANNE,  jrom  the  gateway 
Till  the  hour  ends  let's  go  outside  and  sell. 

To  Luce. 
I'll  not  forget  our  night  my  Luce.     Farewell. 

Exit  JehannCy  Ysbeau,  and  the  two  students  with  them.     As 
they  go  out  the  Ballad  Monger  re-enters  jrom  the  street. 

BALLAD  MONGER,  to  Luce,  eyeing  the  departing  girls 
Fine  fruits,  fine  flowers. 

LUCE 

Then  take  a  care. 

BALLAD  MONGER 

And  why? 

I  have  my  arts,  I  too  can  sing  and  sigh 

As  well  as 

He  leers  at  her  meaningly. 

LUCE 
Who? 


12  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  [act  i 

BALLAD  MONGER,  insolently 
The  Master. 

LUCE,  with  assumed  carelessness 

Piteous  fool, 
Have  you  a  meaning? 

BALLAD  MONGER 

Yes,  there  is  a  school. 
Pointing  to  the  school  doorway. 
The  school  must  have  its  master. 

He  turns  away  sniggering  and  picking  at  his  lute. 

LUCE 

Well? 

BALLAD  MONGER,  returning  to  her 

You  follow? 
Singing. 
The  highest  tower  will  nest  its  homing  swallow. 

Suddenly  speaking  again. 
You  have  a  mistress. 

LUCE 

Ah! 


ACT  i]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  13 

BALLAD  MONGER 

She  has  a  heart. 
And  you?     O  ho!  the  nut  is  cracked — you  start! 
Now  buy  a  song,  in  these  the  kernel  is; 
Here — 

Selecting  parchments  from  his  pack  and  reading, 

A  to  H — or  these! 

LUCE,  staring  at  the  parchments 
No  more — 

BALLAD  MONGER 

Or  this! 
One  thrush  sang  all  of  these,  and  to  one  rose; 
You  know  them  both;  here's  one,  mark  how  it  flows; 

Reading, 
A  Shadow  to  its  Moon 

Putting  it  back  in  his  package. 

In  words  that  wing  it. 
Shadow's  a  man,  the  moon's  a  maid — I'll  sing  it. 

Luce  retreats,  putting  her  fingers  to  her  ears. 

No?    Then  I'll  speak,  now  am  I  wise  or  dull? 
'Tis  your  own  moon  whether  at  dark  or  full. 

Luce  starts  wildly  toward  the  door  of  Fulbert^s  house,  but  he 
follows  her  to  the  steps  and  calls  after  her. 


14  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  [act  i 

*Twas  made  by  Master  Abelard  to  your  lady, 
I  found  them  by  the  wall — the  music's  mine, 
But  I  have  left  their  names,  full  credit's  given. 

Shouting. 
The  town's  afire — it  sells — folks  have  their  proof. 

Exit  Luce,  While  he  has  been  speaking,  Malart  has  ap- 
peared in  the  street  gateway  and  he  has  crept  jurtively 
and  fiercely  behind  the  singer y  whom  he  now  springs  upon 
and  throttles  savagely. 

BALLAD   MONGER 

What — God's  my  throat — whose  hand — ah — you 

As  the  minstrel  struggles  in  the  monk's  powerful  grasp, 
Fulbert  appears  in  the  doorway  of  his  house  and  speaks 
from  the  threshold. 

FULBERT 

Malart! 
The  monk  releases  his  hold  on  the  man. 

BALLAD  MONGER,  reeling  and  foaming  with  rage 

Ah — and  so  you — white  slippery — faugh — I  faint — 
Drab  sweat  of  the  church — ^you've  greased  the  walls 

too  long. 
You'll  be  well  dried  for  this  if  I  can  reach 

Dragging  out  a  dagger. 
Here's  iron  shall  drain  you  well  if 


ACT  I]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  15 

FULBERT 

Out! 

The  Ballad  Monger  totters  out  into  the  street^  cursing  be- 
neath his  breathy  but  stricken  with  fear  oj  Fulbert. 

Zealot, 
You  seem  consumed  with  a  fever  of  Paradise 
For  other  souls. 

MALART,  desperately  excited 
Fulbert,  your  niece 

FULBERT 

God's  Hfe! 
How  dare  you  name  her! 

MALART,  recovering  some  calmness  and  looking  at  him 
Blind — beyond  reason — blind. 

FULBERT 

Can  there  be  reason  in  a  useless  death 

Or  meaning  in  such  an  eye  all  crimson  fused  ?  , 

MALART 

Yes,  I  have  meanings;  O  I  burst  with  meanings. 

FULBERT 

What  then — give  light  or  live  to  know  what  dark  is. 
Pour  forth. 

MALART 

You  heard  no  singing? 


i6  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  [act  i 

FULBERT 

Where? 

MALART 

Where? 
All,  all  about  us,  outside  in  the  sun. 

FULBERT 

Speak  out. 

MALART 

I  cannot,  for  you  have  no  ears. 

FULBERT 

Then  shall  you  have  no  eyes,  for  in  this  hour 
Deep  in  the  altar  crypt  beneath  the  pulpit 

MALART 

What!     Do  you  dream  that  I,  Malart,  could  fear? 
I,  who  have  racked  sides  and  bosom  torn. 
From  whose  wide  woe  blood  comes  continually 
That  God  may  take  His  ease  and  be  at  peace. 
I  who  would  go  down  glad  and  glor}'ing 
To  whisthng  hell  and  make  its  hurricane 
One  soul  the  hotter  at  Christ's  most  faint  request. 
You  threat  me  with  a  fear! 

FULBERT 

You  rave. 

MALART 

No,  no. 
But  never  by  shudders  or  dread  could  I  be  moved. 


ACTi]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  17 

FUI.BERT,  craftily 
Then  by  your  duty. 

MALART 

By  my  duty,  hear  me: 
There  was  a  singing  here  some  moments  past. 
'Twas  sung  to  no  one,  and  the  air  dissolved  it. 
Not  so  last  night. 

FULBERT 

Talk  not  of  air. 

MALART 

Last  night 
The  same  song  grew,  and  maddened  in  the  dark 
One  sang  it  and  another  one  embraced  it — 
And  him — O  him! 

FULBERT 

Who? 


MALART 
FULBERT 

Well,  name  the  other. 


Our  poor  Abelard. 


MALART 

Thy  dead  brother's  daughter. 


i8  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  [act  i 

FULBERT 

Ha — ^Venom — hast  spit?    My  Heloise! 

MALART 

I  knew 
There  would  be  to  my  words  no  wakening. 

FULBERT 

Can  you  so  stand  and  breathe  and  breathe  and 

speak  this, 
And  live? 

MALART 

Yea,  and  so  speak  through  all  my  days 
And  say  no  word  but  truth. 

FULBERT 

Who  saw?    Who  heard? 

MALART 

I  and  all  Paris  save  only  you  alone. 

FULBERT,  clutching  at  him 
More — lest  I  tear  your  maddening  tongue  from  you. 

MALART,  with  malicious  deliberation 
It  happened  thus  and  so 

FULBERT 

Pause  once  and  I 


ACTi]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  19 

MALART 

Was  it  not  night,  were  not  they  two  alone? 

FULBERT 


Where? 

MALART 

On  the  stones  that  bear 

US  even  now. 

FULBERT 

Here! 

MALART 

Even  beneath  this  wall. 

FULBERT 

When? 

MALART 

Night  by  night. 

FULBERT 

And  you? 

MALART 

— ^Watch  from  the  grating  of  my  cell 
Until  each  glides  beside  the  scorned  Church, 
And  in  the  dark  two  mouths  find  one  another. 
Then  do  they  two  pass  outward  to  the  town, 
To  come  no  more  till  dawn. 

FULBERT 

Can  so  much  fire 
Come  from  so  cold  a  thing  as  you  to  gnaw  me? 


20  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  [act  i 

MALART 

Will  you  have  proof? 

FULBERT,  picking  at  his  throat 

Breath!  Breath!  Let  me  awake! 

MALART 

To-night  they  come. 

FULBERT 

The  hour? 

MALART 

I  camiot  tell. 
Deep  at  my  prayers  I  in  the  shadow  will  lurk 
Until  their  souls,  Hke  swift  unhallowed  wings, 
Shall  bear  them  flaming  to  the  garden  here. 

Then  I  shall  rouse  you 

A  bell  souttds  in  the  school. 

MALART 

Ah,  the  bell — keep  silence. 

The  murmur  of  the  forthcoming  students  is  heard  inside  the 
school  and  grows  louder. 

He  will  come  forth — silence  and  watchful  eyes. 

Luce  appears  in  doorway  of  Fulbert^s  house. 


ACTi]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  21 

FULBERT,    to  Luce 

Bring  here  your  mistress. 

Exit  Luce  into  house. 

She — my  hope  most  hidden 
To  pour  down  richness  on  me  from  a  throne — 
A  penniless  schoolman — and  in  guilt  besmudged — 
O  she  who  was  a  white  thing  snowed  upon — 
The  Treasury  of  France  was  my  one  price! 
Now  with  a  mouth  fed  scarlet-hot  with  guilt, 
Who'll  pay  a  starveling  red  to  buy  her  up? 

MALART,  insidiously 
He— 

FULBERT 

Hel  and  goes  very  white  and  smoothly — he! 

O  Dreams,  my  Dreams  that  would  have  brought  me 

crowns 
Come  back  and  doom  him.    Whips  of  Fire,  what 

griefs 
Will  stab  him  dreadfullest  ?  What  thing  will  tear  him 
Slowest,  and  what  will  feed  his  agony? 
Him — and  goes  very  softly — him — O  God 

MALART 

Hold — he  will  now  come  forth,  and  she  too  comes. 
Observe  them  here  together  in  the  sun. 
Watch  then  the  forcM  motion  of  their  eyes 
That  will  beyond  their  wills  unclasp  their  secret. 


22  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  [act  i 

He  draws  Fulbert  up  stage  to  a  comer  oj  the  court.  They 
talk  apart.  A  murmur  from  the  town  outside  as  oj  many 
people  approaching  is  heard  faintly.  Enter  several  students 
from  the  street.  Enter  to  them  two  students  from  the 
school. 

A  STUDENT 

You  heard? 

SECOND  STUDENT 

We  read. 

THIRD  STUDENT,  one  of  the  party  from  the  street 

The  city  is  a  bell 
Sounding  the  sorrow  of  it. 

FOURTH  STUDENT,  from  the  school 

O  my  master 
Must  we  be  helpless  while  you  suffer  thus? 

SECOND   STUDENT 

The  thing  has  seethed  too  long  without  a  proof; 
The  city  hastens  here  to  look  upon  them. 

FIRST  STUDENT 

What  will  the  end  be? 

THIRD  STUDENT 

If  the  school  goes  down, 
The  world  will  be  extinguished  in  its  fall. 


ACT  i]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  23 

While  they  have  been  talking  the  murmur  from  the  town 
has  increased  and  now  a  great  number  of  towns-people, 
men  and  women  enter  from  the  street  talking  excitedly 
among  themselves.  They  arrange  themselves  en  masse 
in  the  gateway  and  against  Fulbert^s  house,  looking  ex- 
pectantly at  the  school  door.  The  students  begin  to  enter 
from  the  school.  Jehanne  and  Ysbeau  enter  from  the 
street. 

VOICES  AMONG  THE  TOWNS-PEOPLE 

He  fears  to  come. 

Not  he.     Have  patience. 

Back! 
A  BURGHER,  to  one  next  him 

If  you  stand  here,  your  eyes  shall  well  behold  him. 

SECOND  BURGHER 

How  shall  I  know  him? 

FIRST  BURGHER 

Easily  by  his  face. 
Resembling  much  St.  Raphael,  the  angel, 
Save  for  the  darker  hair. 

A  WOMAN 

May  Mary  shield  her! 

THIRD   BURGHER 

This  is  a  sad  thing  that  he  leads  the  youth. 
And  such  a  free  life  too. 


24  ABELARD   AND   HELOISE  [act  i 

FOURTH   BURGHER 

I  never  knew. 

THIRD   BURGHER 

Friend,  are  you  deaf?     It  has  been  mouthed  about 
These  many  months. 

FOURTH  BURGHER 

I  never  heard  before. 

THIRD  BURGHER. 

Have  you  a  wife? 

FOURTH   BURGHER 

No. 

THIRD   BURGHER 

Therein  lies  your  deafness. 
There's  not  a  dame  in  Paris  but  could  tell  you. 

FOURTH   BURGHER,  looking  obout 

They  seem  to  be  all  here. 

SECOND   BURGHER 

This  is  the  first 
That  they  Ve  had  proof  of  it.    The  ballads  tell. 

FIRST   BURGHER 

They  come  to  see  now  with  more  intimate  eyes. 


ACTi]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  25 

FOURTH   BURGHER 

'Tis  a  most  trying  hour  for  bachelors. 

The  students  have  been  entering  from  the  school  singly. 
Now  a  large  group  enter  looking  hack  deferentially.  Last 
of  all  Abelard  appears  in  doorway  talking  to  Gervase. 

VOICES   FROM   STUDENTS 

Master!    Hail  Mighty  Greek! 

O  Herald  of  Reason! 
Plato  of  Paris! 

Socrates  of  Gaul! 

Abelard  stands  dreamily  looking  about  him  as  though  he  has 
heard  nothing.  The  cries  cease.  The  crowd  is  tense 
with  curiosity  and  the  excitement  of  expectancy.  They 
cast  curious  but  fearful  looks  on  Fulbert,  who  stands  aside 
from  them. 

ABELARD 

Late  afternoon. 

A  WOMAN 

He  muses. 

ABELARD 

— Afternoon ! 
O  here  dwelt  truth  glowing  while  we  within 
All  shivering  piled  up  stony  word  on  word, 
Prisoners  of  yesterday.  He  pauses, 

VOICES  AMONG   STUDENTS 

Discourse!    Discourse! 


26  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  [act  i 

ABELARD 

Of  what? 

GERVASE 

Of  anything  in  earth  or  heaven, 
So  your  gemmed  utterance  will  pour  forth  magic. 

FOURTH   BURGHER 

Ha,  Magic! 

THIRD  BURGHER 

Yea. 

FOURTH   BURGHER 

Will  he  not  bum  for  it? 

A  WOMAN 

He  bums  already  with  a  deeper  flame. 

ABELARD 

Yield  to  this  air,  it  is  your  necromancer. 

JEHANNE,  approaching  him  timidly  and  offering  him  a 
lily  from  her  basket. 
Master,  this  flower 

ABELARD 

Jehanne, 
How  white  a  gift  for  me. 

A   STUDENT 

Master,  speak  on. 
Yield  us  the  wisdom  of  old  days. 


ACT  I]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  27 

ABELARD 

Old  days! 
Summer  is  here  and  the  world  is  full  of  sun, 
And  here's  a  flower. 

FOURTH   BURGHER 

Strange  words  for  schoolmen's  ears! 

THIRD   BURGHER 

'Tis  but  of  late  that  he  has  spoken  so 
Since 

SECOND  BURGHER 

Yes  and  wisely  said  that  it  was  ** since" — 

GERVASE,  in  a  low  voice  to  Ahelard 
Have  care,  confuse  them  with  a  mist  of  words. 
Mask  all  your  meanings  in  imaginings. 
And  all  this  danger  will  be  yawned  away. 

ABELARD 

Sheathe  for  the  day  your  tablets  and  your  pens. 
Wisdom  lies  open  here  through  other  doors. 

A   STUDENT,  io  him 

What  doors  are  those? 

ABELARD 

Are  you  a  lover? 

STUDENT,  in  some  confusion 

Yes. 


28  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  [act  i 

ABELARD 

Then  look  on  learning  with  a  lover's  eyes, 
Then  will  gold  Helen  come  down  the  wind  to  you 
And  in  the  sanguine  tumult  of  a  rose 
Be  throned  forever. 

STUDENT 

Would  it  win  my  love 
To  deeper  loving? 

ABELARD 

It  would  light  you  both 
To  wiser  vision.     Plato  out  of  the  air 
Will  brighten.     And  royal  doom-red  Babylon 
Rise  in  the  twilight  out  of  a  dove's  throat. 
In  a  heaved  sea-wave  you  shall  see  blue  Tyre 
Built  and  destroyed  again 

THE   STUDENT 

I'll  watch  for  it 

SECOND   STUDENT 

Hush,  for  he  speaks  again ! 

ABELARD 

— and  in  the  night 
You  shall  look  up  with  wonder  on  the  sky 
Seeing  it  all  alive,  and  upon  the  stars 
The  sigh-warm  k<isses  of  lovers  long  asleep. 


ACT  i]  ABELARD   AND   HELOISE  29 

And  you  shall  question  the  moon  what  secret  thing 
Moves  in  the  phantom  marble  of  her  smile, 
And  she  shall  answer  you. 

FOURTH  BURGHER 

What  words  are  these? 

Heloise  appears  in  the  doorway  oj  her  uncle's  house  and 
pauses  behind  the  people^  looking  at  them. 

THIRD   BURGHER 

Say  rather  what  thing  pales  his  face. 

A   STUDENT 

Ho,  look! 
Our  Lady  of  Wonder  is  come  down  to  us ! 

Heloise  comes  quickly  and  impulsively  toward  her  uncle, 
but  as  she  nears  him  she  is  stopped  by  the  suppressed  jury 
of  his  countenance.  Abelard  does  not  look  at  her  but  sees  all. 

GERVASE 

Master,  we  wait. 

A   STUDENT 

Behold  now  how  his  eyes  are  wrapped  away, 
And  that  tall  spirit  that  so  quickened  us 
Is  fallen  on  dream. 

A  WOMAN,  to  him 

The  smouldering  of  his  face — 
Watch  that — look  close — then  turn  and  look  at  her! 


30  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  [act  i 

HELOISE,  to  her  uncle 
You  sent  for  me? 

FULBERT 

To  take  the  air,  the  wind 
Has  changed. 

HELOISE 

Yes,  so  it  has,  and  is  more  heavy. 
I  interrupt  a  lecture. 

FULBERT 

No,  we  waited. 

HELOISE,  looking  about 
I  see  new  faces  at  the  school  to-day; 
A  full  attendance.     Let  us  make  them  gifts. 
I'll  purchase  fruits  and  flowers.     Jehanne !    Ysbeau ! 

JEHANNE  AND  YSBEAU,  approaching  her 
Lady? 

HELOISE 

Bring  your  baskets,  I  take  all. 

JEHANNE 

Ah,  Lady 

HELOISE 

Colors  and  sweetness — all  I  take  them. 
Bring  all. 

YSBEAU 

'Tis  pity. 


ACTi]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  31 

JEHANNE 

Vanished ! 
They  hold  up  their  baskets  empty, 

HELOISE 

Empty! 

YSBEAU 

Mine 
Fed  many  mouths. 

JEHANNE 

Many  hands  needed  mine. 

Heloise  turns  from  them.     All  watch  her  and  Abelard  in 
silence. 

A  STUDENT 

Is  she  not  infinite? 

SECOND  STUDENT 

Ay. 

FIRST  STUDENT 

And  fair? 

SECOND  STUDENT 

Most  sweetly. 

THIRD   STUDENT 

The  master's  lips  are  mute,  let  her  address  us. 

SEVERAL   STUDENTS 

Ay,  ay,  beseech  her! 


32  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  [act  i 

FIRST   STUDENT 

Gervase,  do  you  ask  her; 
Plead  for  some  words,  you  honey-tongue. 

GERVASE,  bursting  with  anxiety 

With  a  will. 

He  approaches  Heloise  and  kneels  before  her  with  his  gay- 
est manner. 

Lady  of  Lore,  Lady  of  Secret  Light, 
Gallic  Minerva,  Pallas  reborn  of  Love, 
Bright  Oracle,  discourse! 

HELOISE 

O  boundless  folly 
Even  to  ask  it!    I  am  one  of  you. 

GERVASE 

Not  so,  the  moon's  between  and  the  blue  vast. 

He  contrives  to  whisper  to  her  aside. 

They    watch.      Do  not  disclose  yourself  but  blind 

them. 
Feed  them  with  dreams,  stay  them  with  poetry. 
Grow  thoughts  and  hide  your  heart  beneath  them. 

FULBERT 

Speak! 
HELOISE,  slowly  turning 
Of  what? 


ACT  i]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  33 

A  VOICE 

Life!    Life! 

A   STUDENT 

Nay,  of  philosophy. 

GERVASE 

Nay,  of  that  burning  essence  called  the  soul. 

HELOISE 

But  in  what  way? 

GERVASE 

It  is  divisible; 
The  parts  thereof  being  the  fixed  emotions, 
We  pray  you  speak  of  them. 

And  how 

GERVASE 

They  are 
Pity  and  Hate  and  Hope,  Despair  and  Fear. 

HELOISE 

I  might  speak  then  of  Pity. 

GERVASE 

By  all  means. 

HELOISE 

I  would  it  were  a  flower  that  I  might  gather. 

Her  voice  breaks.     She  turns  to  her  uncle. 
I  pray  you  let  me  go. 


34  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  [act  i 

FULBERl 

Remain,  instruct  us. 

HELOISE 

Pity's  no  thing  to  speak  of,  but  to  show. 

FULBERT 

To  whom? 

HELOISE 

Sorrow  should  teach  it. 

FULBERT 

So?    What  sorrow? 

HELOISE 

That  which  all  mortal  things  have  felt ;  I  dream 
That  even  from  the  insensible  things  of  the  world 
Pity  flows  always,  out  of  all  the  seas. 
And  surely  the  moon  is  a  good  giver  of  it, 
And  certain  stars  and  winds.    This  will  sufl&ce. 

FULBERT 

We  hope  for  more. 

GERVASE 

Pray  speak  of  hope. 

She  stands  silent. 

FULBERT 

We  wait. 


ACT  i]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  35 

HELOISE 

You  ask  me  a^  a  catechist  or  judge, 
Not  as  one  seeking  wisdom. 

FULBERT 

I  so  thirst 
After  more  knowledge  that  if  you  are  dumb 
I'll  find  it  elsewhere. 

HELOISE,  desperately 

Let  me  speak  instead. 
Then  we  shall  all  disperse.     The  day  is  ended. 
Why  should  we  wait?    What  would  you  have  me 
say? 

GERVASE  in  a  low  voice  to  her 
More  poetry, — give  them  no  chance  to  grasp  you. 

FULBERT 

Never  leave  now.     Despair  and  Hate  and  Fear 
Have  not  been  touched  on. 

HELOISE 

Fear  is  but  a  wind. 
Blows  out  of  nowhere. 

FULBERT 

Have  you  never  felt  it? 

HELOISE 

Do  not  a  myriad  ghosts  within  us  dwell, 
Ancestral  vapors  unto  whom  the  soul 


36  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  [act  i 

Bows  ever  like  a  reed?    What  living  thing 
That  lifts  its  head  up  in  the  white  day  air 
Shudders  not  at  the  dark  that  does  upbear  it 
And  beckons  it  again?    Not  in  our  minds, 
But  in  our  minds*  foundations  Fear  must  lurk. 

FULBERT 

Despair  comes  next. 

A   STUDENT 

What,  then,  shall  be  its  image? 

Heloise,  turning  slowly  to  her  uncle 
I  never  kne^v  its  face,  nor  ever  shall  know 

FULBERT 

Still  there  is  Hate 

HELOISE 

Where? 

FULBERT 

Yet  to  be  sounded. 

HELOISE 

Ah,  then  I'll  speak  of  it;  Hate  is  a  pool 

All  of  whose  streams  run  backward.     He  who  looks 

May,  deep  within,  see  mirrored  from  its  banks 

A  downward  tower  built  to  find  a  heaven ; 

And  all  the  stars  in  venom  are  made  strange. 

This  then  completes  the  score. 


ACT  i]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  37 

A  VOICE 

A  cheer. 

HELOISE,  attempting  to  go 

Farewell. 

The  students  applaud  wildly^  hut  as  she  turns  to  go  Malart 
approaches  and  stands  in  her  way. 

MALART 

Never  end  so  until  the  end  is  reached. 

HELOJSE 

But  I  have  finished. 

MALART 

Still  we  listen  and  stay- 
To  know  of  the  one  faculty  of  the  soul 
Exceeding  all  the  rest,  eclipsing,  glowing. 
In  which  the  whole  is  compassed  and  made  warm. 

HELOISE 

You  veil  your  words. 

MALART 

Yet  speak  of  it. 

HELOISE 

And  how? 
What  is  it? 

MALART 

Must  I  then  declare  it  to  you  ? 


38  ABELARD   AND  HELOISE  [act  i 

HELOISE 

I  grope  for  meaning  in  you. 

MALART 

Then  I  must. 
My  meaning  is  an  infinite  faculty, 
A  mystery,  a  cloud,  a  fire,  a  wound 
That  I,  walking  among  mankind,  observe 
It  has  been  named 

The  voice  of  the  Ballad  Mongety  singing  outside  in  the 
stneet  one  of  Abelard's  songs. 

MALART 

But  hark,  it  names  itself. 

BALLAD  MONGER,  appearing  in  the  gateway 
Songs  new  and  old  by  Master  Abelard, 
The  famous  poet  to  his  famous  lady. 

Abelard  and  Heloise  stand  on  opposite  sides  oj  the  court, 
white  and  rigid.  All  are  held  spellbound  till  the  song 
ends,  then  instantly  all  is  confusion.  The  crowd  begins 
to  leave  the  court,  talking  among  themselves. 

HELOISE,  with  great  difficulty 

Mine  is  a  woman's  head  and  will  not  bear 
A  too  great  subtlety.     I  weary.   . 

With  a  pretense  of  calmness  she  enters  her  uncle^s  house. 
As  the  towns-people  depart,  a  bell  sounds  and  the  students 


ACTi]  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  39 

separate  from  them  and  enter  the  school,  followed  by 
Ahelard,  Finally  all  have  departed  save  Fulbert,  Malart, 
and  a  porter  who  closes  and  locks  the  great  iron  gate  of 
the  wall  and  then  enters  the  school.  Fulbert  has  had  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  his  door  since  Heloise  entered  it.  He 
now  starts  fiercely  toward  it. 

MALART,  stopping  him 

Wait! 

Fulbert  slowly  turns  and  goes  out  with  a  gesture  of  despera- 
tion. Malart  is  left  alone.  The  stage  is  gradually 
darkened  until  all  light  is  extinguished.  It  is  kept  dark 
for  a  minute  to  denote  the  passing  of  several  hours. 
Then  it  is  slowly  suffused  with  moonlight.  The  watch  is 
heard  in  the  street  intoni^ig  the  hour;  his  lantern ,  hung 
at  the  top  of  a  pike,  is  seen  above  the  wall  passing  slowly. 
A  pause.  Voices  singing  to  the  lute  are  heard  approach- 
ing in  the  street.  As  they  get  nearer  they  are  suddenly 
hushed,  A  muffled  knocking  is  heard  on  the  outside  of 
the  gate.  Enter  a  student  from  the  school  and  advancing 
toward  the  gate,  waits  a  moment,  upon  which  the  knock- 
ing is  again  sounded.  The  student  thereupon  produces 
the  key,  unlocks  the  gate  and  with  a  mighty  pull  and  heave 
the  ponderous  door  swings  slowly  inward,  admitting, 
staggering  and  panting  with  suppressed  laughter  and  their 
exertions,  Ysbeau,  and  her  student  lover  dragging  a  ladder 
after  them.  The  first  student  whistles  and  Jehanne  ap- 
pears at  an  upper  window  in  Fulberi's  house.  The 
student  places  the  ladder,  Jehanne  climbs  down  and  all 
run  laughingly  out  into  the  street,  taking  the  ladder  and 
pulling  the  gate  shut  after  them  without  locking  it.     A 


40  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  [act  i 

pause.  Enter  Heloise  from  her  uncle's  house.  She  walks 
eagerly  around  the  court  hut  finds  it  empty.  As  she  nears 
the  doorway  oj  the  school  Abelard  appears  within  it.  He 
comes  swiftly  toward  her. 

ABELARD 

Sorceress,  Priestess,  Child 


HELOISE 

You,  you- 


ABELARD 

O  Fire! 

HELOISE 

O  Wind  that  blows  this  Fire  where  he  listeth. 

ABELARD 

You  are  the  sea  from  which  that  Wind  arose. 

HELOISE 

If  I  the  sea,  then  you  the  heavens  that  feed  me; 
Your  arms  the  shores  of  me,  and  in  that  home 
Lo,  all  my  tides  are  folded  to  content. 

ABELARD 

By  Fire,  by  Wind,  by  Sea  I  swear  to  hold  you 
Safely  within  that  margin  while  your  deeps 
Have  wildness  to  be  lulled  or  peace  to  fathom. 


ACT  i]  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  41 


HELOISE 


Beyond !    Beyond !     O  keep  me  while  we  are 
A  part  of  this  dear  world,  and  when  you  leave  it, 
O  be  the  sun  and  draw  me  after  you. 


ABELARD 


I  am  impetuous  to  be  that  glory 
That  I  may  blaze  upon  you,  being  cloud; 
And  see  those  treasuries  still  unknown  to  me, 
Who  am  but  coast  and  beaches  to  you  now. 


HELOISE 


Ah,  you  have  tamed  the  farthest  wave  of  me. 
And  what  poor  shells  I  nurtured  you  have  burnished 
Till  they  are  pearls  that  I  may  wear  for  you. 


ABELARD 


0  jewel-guarding  sea,  your  stillnesses 
Hold  something  more  than  I  shall  ever  find. 

HELOISE 

If  any  richness  in  me  still  withholds 

1  am  not  mindful  of  it,  and  it  waits 
Until  your  need  shall  summon  it  to  life. 

ABELARD 

Thus  you  surpass  me  in  sweet  images. 


42  ABELARD   AND   HELOISE  [act  i 

HELOISE 

I  would  not  have  you  find  my  words  so  cold 
As  any  image  is,  but  have  you  hold  them 
My  very  self,  to  see  and  know  me  yours. 

ABELARD 

And  are  you? 

HELOISE,  causing  him  to  look  in  her  eyes 
See. 

ABELARD 

O  find  new  words  to  tell  me. 

HELOISE 

Teach  me. 

ABELARD 

I  cannot,  I  have  learned  from  you. 
You  whom  I  taught  with  Sibyls  did  consort, 
With  witchery  touched  my  eyes  and  with  your  mouth 
Fused  with  the  glad  world  all  my  breathing  clay. 

HELOISE 

I  was  the  clay  and  you  the  quickening  flame. 

ABELARD 

Out  of  that  South  which  was  your  burning  presence 
I  was  enkindled. 

HELOISE 

Have  you  not  become 
The  very  South  itself  in  tenderness  ? 


ACTi]  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  43 

ABELARD 

You  wear  within  your  eyes  the  fervid  West; 
From  dawn  the  East  has  clothed  you  on  with  white- 
ness, 
The  North  with  strength. 

HELOISE 

Ah  no,  I  would  not  be 
Thus  gloriously  apparelled  with  the  sky 
Lest  I  be  held  from  walking  on  this  world 
That  you  make  heaven  of,  my  Abelard. 

ABELARD 

I  have  cast  off  that  world  for  great  Lovers  sake 
And  have  rehnquished  all  my  mighty  dreams. 

HELOISE 

The  dreams? 

ABELARD 

All  thought,  all  hope  of  earthly  prizes. 
The  hollow,  moonless,  bleak  frontier  of  reason 
Shall  never  know  me  more  as  habitant. 
Lifting  cold  disputations  to  my  lips. 
Thirsting  for  unfound  wine.     O  most  high  Love! 
Unconquerable  Sweet!    Imperial  Wind! 
How  you  do  blow  the  thistledown  ambition 
Into  the  white,  desire-receiving  air! 


44  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  [act  i 

HELOISE,  ajter  a  pause  in  which  she  looks  long  at  him  as 
though  to  search  his  inmost  heart 

You  cannot  put  ambition  by,  O  Love, 
Nor  is  there  need  of  it,  but  it  shall  be 
A  thing  I'll  share  with  you. 

She  pauses  again  and  then  proceeds. 

And  you  I'll  share 
With  all  the  world. 

ABELARD 

I  do  not  need  that  world. 

HELOISE 

You  are  the  world's. 

ABELARD 

I  sought  a  greater  glory 
Than  it  can  give,  and  I  have  found  it  here 
Low  in  your  eyes,  and  now  I  long  to  see 
Only  the  vivid  love  upon  your  brow 
Poised  there  forever  in  soft  flame  to  live. 

HELOISE 

Earth  is  your  dwelling  and  your  meat  and  drink ; 
Let  not  your  need  but,  the  world's  need  of  you, 
Be  your  one  star. 

ABELARD 

That  star  is  vanished  now. 
The  power,  the  applause,  the  papal  sovereignty 
Have  to  dull  embers  fallen  before  your  face. 


ACT  I]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  45 

HELOISE,  slowly 

The  papal  sovereignty,  my  Abelard  1 

She  looks  fearfully  at  him. 
That  is  a  prize  for  priests. 

ABELARD,  moodily 

I  had  thought  upon  it. 

HELOISE 

But  you  are  all  a  man  and  not  a  priest. 

ABELARD 

I  had  given  it  thought,  and  yet — I  put  it  by. 

HELOISE,  desperately 

O  put  it  by  until  the  end  of  time; 

You  are  not  made  for  cloisters,  and  within  them 

How  could  I  share  with  you? 

ABELARD 

I'll  think  no  more 
Upon  it.    There  are  other  roads  to  fame. 

HELOISE 

And  you  shall  take  them;  but  on  this  dear  night 
Let  us  lock  out  the  world  and  its  poor  laurels, 
Being  together  with  what  is  ours  alone. 


46  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  [act  i 

ABELARD,  returning  from  his  abstraction 
t     The  world  is  dimmed  before  your  dreaming  face, 
Whereon  a  flame  rests  by  whose  radiance 
I  see,  I  hear,  I  feel  with  wakened  senses 
The  voice  under  the  voices  of  the  wind, 
The  whiteness  and  hush  of  wings  within  the  dawn, 
The  very  sun  at  noon  as  a  god  imparadised, 
And  the  red  West  at  the  day's  end — a  rose. 

HELOISE 

All  these  Love  brings  indeed,  but  if  he  came 
A  piteous  beggar  he  would  be  as  welcome 
Since  you  have  brought  him. 

ABELARD 

Would  I  might  bring  more. 

HELOISE 

What  more  than  this? 

ABELARD 

An  echoing,  endless  flame 
To  spread  as  clouds  beneath  your  going  forth. 

HELOISE,  after  a  pause 
You  have  laid  upon  me  even  now  a  thing 
Almost  too  heavy  for  my  womanhood — 
If  I  be  worthy — ^worthy  in  some  measure — 
It  is  enough — within  so  small  a  space. 

She  turns  away. 


ACT  I]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  47 

ABELARD 

How  can  these  walls  contain  so  wild  a  thing? 

HELOISE,  returning 

Oh,  you  have  opened  all  the  doors  of  air. 

And  all  the  thousand  paths  the  moon  comes  down 

Have  wide-flung  gates  that  lead  unto  the  sky 

ABELARD 

As  though  to  call  us  to  some  heaven  there. 

HELOISE 

Ah  no,  our  heaven  is  here;  those  tender  fires 

Blaze  with  sweet  envy  on  us,  and  are  fed 

By  what  we  show  them  more  than  what  they  are. 

ABELARD 

How  the  night  hours  and  all  the  star-sweet  heaven 
Pour  down  your  infinite  presence  with  a  cry! 
How  now  my  eyes  do  see !    How  they  were  blinded ! 
The  noon-like  blaze  of  glories  that  allured  me, 
Fade  in  the  least  wind  from  before  those  deeps. 

HELOISE 

See  how  the  stars  with  myriad  blossoms  breathe 
Out  of  the  wreathing  arch  that  seems  to  bend 
More  tenderly  wherever  you  appear. 


48  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  [act  i 

ABELARD 

Would  I  might  gather  those  white  blooms  for  you 
From  out  the  fields  and  meadows  of  the  night. 

HELOISE 

It  seems  as  we  had  sown  them  long  ago — 

ABELARD,  dreamily 
And  we  shall  reap  them  in  a  time  to  come. 

HELOISE,  starting  with  a  shudder 
Let  us  not  think  of  any  hour  but  this. 

She  turns  anxiously  toward  her  uncle's  house,  then  toward 
the  school  J  and  returns  to  Abelard. 

Go  now  within  and  see  if  all  is  well. 

ABELARD 

I  left  all  sleeping. 

HELOISE 

Yet  I  beg  you  go. 
I,  too,  will  now  patrol  my  uncle's  halls, 
Lest  any  eyes  lurk  there  that  so  beset  us; 
For  I  am  weighted  with  an  unnamed  fear. 
All  knew  on  yesterday  save  he  alone, 
And  he  suspected. 

ABELARD 

My  lost  songs  being  found 
Was  almost  proof. 


ACTi]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  49 

HELOISE 

He  may  not  wait  for  more. 

Go  now 

She  embraces  him. 

ABELARD 

And  come  again? 

HELOISE 

Unfailingly. 

ABELARD 

Love  me  through  that  eternity  that  will  be 
While  we  are  separate. 

HELOISE 

You  shall  never  leave  me, 
For  here  I  bear  you  though  our  ways  be  wide. 

She  touches  her  breast.  Abelard  leaves  her  and  goes  into 
the  school.  Heloise  goes  toward  the  door  of  her  uncle's 
house.  She  is  about  to  enter  when  she  is  suddenly  con- 
fronted with  Malart,  who  stands  in  the  doorway.  She 
stops.     He  comes  slowly  down  to  her. 

MALART 

You  keep  late  hours. 

HELOISE 

I  keep  my  own. 


5©  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  [act  i 

liALART 

You  dream. 
To  prayers  belong  your  hours,  get  you  back  to  them, 
Lament,  plead,  agonize  and  beg  for  mercy. 

HELOISE 

Of  whom? 

MALART 

Of  all  the  pallid  host  of  intercessors. 

HELOISE 

Among  whom  you  are  one? 

MALART 

I  seek  to  save. 

HELOISE 

I  have  come  out  to  be  alone  in  the  wind. 

MALART 

You  have  come  out  like  Lilith  for  a  lure. 

So  at  last  you  start !     So  at  last  you  are  awakened ! 

Oh,  rouse,  return,  repent  in  time  for  grace! 

HELOISE 

Is  it  for  this  that  you  have  followed  me? 

MALART 

I  follow  God's  voice  only. 


ACT  i]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  51 

HELOISE 

If  He  called  you 
His  voice  is  a  false  thing. 

MALART 

O  profanation! 

HELOISE 

Will  you  go  back  and  leave  me? 

MALART 

Not  until 
I  have  my  charge  delivered  and  made  plain, 
Thou  scarlet  thing.     O  ruthless  Babylonian, 
Wilt  thou  with  thy  mad  lips  and  chaining  arms 
Drag  down  to  utter  torment  God's  appointed? 
Wilt  thou  persist  in  being  woman  only 
And  therefore  be  hell's  minion?     On  thy  knees. 
Oh,  purge  thee  of  thyself!    Cry!    Tear  thy  flesh! 
Creep  to  a  desert  and  there  abide  alone 
While  thy  endooming  beauty  is  upon  thee! 

HELOISE 

Malart,  I  would  that  I  might  talk  with  you. 

MALART 

Then  speak. 

HELOISE 


It  is  impossible. 


52  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  i 

MALART 

And  why? 

HELOISE 

Speaker  and  auditor  need  a  mutual  tongue. 

MALART 

You  deem  me  not  book-learned?    You  deem  me 

deaf? 
I  understand  enough  to  see  most  clearly 
The  two  diverse  wide  roads  to  heaven  and  hell 
And  they  that  walk  thereon. 

HELOISE 

I  pray  have  done. 

MALART 

You  will  not  go? 

HELOISE 

When  I  have  breathed  more  freely. 

MALART 

Beware,  beat  no  more  words  upon  me.     Go — 
I  am  the  Church's  wolf  to  guard  her  altar, 
And  I  may  bare  my  teeth. 

HELOISE 

So!    In  what  way? 

He  does  not  answer. 
You  are  friend  to  Abelard? 


ACT  I]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  53 

MALART 

I  am  friend  to  God, 
And  He  shall  have  His  own. 

HELOISE 

He  shall  indeed; 
But  you,  His  self-appointed  deputy. 
Are  blind  unto  the  way  that  He  has  chosen. 

MALART 

There  is  but  one  way  and  a  narrow  one. 

HELOISE 

It  lies ? 

MALART 

Through  quiet  cells  of  full  renouncement. 

HELOISE 

And  leads? 

MALART 

To  heaven. 

HELOISE 

Even  you  have  shed 
One  ray  of  truth.     He  will  need  all  of  heaven ; 
But  there  your  truth  ends.    First  he  needs  this  earth, 
And  all  it  holds  will  not  suffice  for  him. 

MALART 

And  you,  the  giver? 


54  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  [act  i 

HELOISE 

I  am  part  of  earth. 

MALART 

For  once,  recall  your  mind.    Within  the  house 
Sleep  Fulbert  and  Suspicion,  bedfellows — 
If  I  now  call  them 

HELOISE 

And  what  then? 

MALART 

Thou  fool! 
Consider  thy  position  under  the  stars. 
Soon  will  the  clock  beat  one  and  you  are  here — 
Come  hither  upon  a  purpose  bent,  which  Fulbert, 
To  the  sura  of  his  suspicion  adding  it, 
Must  know  to  be  a  tryst. 

HELOISE 

Will  he  think  harm 
That  Night  and  I  are  alone  here  in  the  court? 

MALART 

The  court  upon  which  opens  Abelard*s  door. 

HELOISE 

Doors  have  an  exit  where  an  entrance  is! 

MALART,  aside 
Ha!  Is  it  so? 


ACTi]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  55 

HELOISE 

This  is  enough.     No  more. 
Go  back.     Sleep.     Pray.     Do  anything — but  leave 
me. 

MALART 

And  I  do  what  I  do  with  your  consent? 

HELOISE 

Only  to  have  you  leave  me. 

MALART 

You  have  spoken. 

HELOISE,  suddenly  seized  with  a  suspicion 

Ha!    You  would  dare  to  whisper  to  my  uncle? 
Then  think  on  hell,  for  he  would  send  you  there. 
Remember  but  his  face  and  when  you  threaten 
Choose  first  an  arrow  that  will  not  rebound. 

MALART,  retreating 

Enough.     Farewell.     I  look  upon  you  once 
And  see  you  thus.     And  then — no  more  again 
Shall  such  a  face  look  on  the  world  or  me. 

Exit  into  Fulbert^s  house.  Heloise  looks  at  his  retreating 
figure  until  he  has  gone.  She  then  goes  swiftly  toward 
the  school  steps  and  stands  upon  them^  looking  in.  After 
a  moment  Abelard  appears  and  comes  down  to  her. 


56  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  [act  i 

ABELARD 

All's  well.    They  are  asleep. 
They  both  come  down  the  steps  to  the  middle  oj  the  court. 


A  dreadful  visitor. 


HELOISE 

But  I  have  had 

ABELARD 

Who? 


HELOISE 

Malart. 

ABELARD 

Ah,  he'll  guard  us. 

HELOISE 

Not  with  clear  eyes  or  untouched  judgment  ever. 

She  pauses, 
I  am  too  much  disquieted  to  stay. 
We  must  return,  that  such  eyes  may  no  longer      , 
Seek  to  destroy  us  by  such  vigilance. 

ABELARD 

This  very  ground  opposes  coming  day. 
The  legions  of  the  dew  array  their  spears 
To  fight  until  the  upward -marching  sun 
Dispels  their  watery  camp 


ACTi]  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  57 

HELOISE,  starting  wildly 

What's  that?    A  sound! 
A  slight  noise  is  heard  in  Fulherfs  house. 

ABELARD,  still  dreamily 
All  earth  and  heaven  should  sound  our  gladness  out. 

A  louder  noise  is  heard. 
HELOISE 

That  is  not  heaven  nor  earth,  but  hell  awakened 
Quick!    To  your  door!     Good-night! 

She  runs  to  Ahelard,  they  embrace  hurriedly. 

ABELARD 

Ah,  World! 

HELOISE 

Quick! 

Abelard  runs  to  the  school  door^  Heloise  to  her  own.  The 
doors,  which  they  had  left  open  upon  entering  are  now 
shut.     They  try  to  enter  but  cannot. 

•  ABELARD 

Locked ! 

HELOISE,  shaking  frantically  at  her  own  door  to  no  avail 
The  doors  are  sealed ! 

She  leaves  it  and  runs  along  the  walls  reaching  blindly  with 
her  hands  as  though  to  tear  an  opening. 


S8  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  [act  i 

Through  the  stones — creep — creep. 
Flatten  against  them  there  in  the  deep  shadow — 
They  shall  not  find  you — you  will  die — are  dead — 
Whispers  have  reached  him — murder  was  in  his  face 
While  we  stood  yesterday  before  the  world — 
O  God,  can  you  not  leap? 

She  runs  toward  the  court  gate,  and  in  doing  so  she  nears 
Abelardf  who  has  stood  still,  silently  watching  her  as 
though  he  dreamed.  As  she  darts  past  him  he  catches 
her  passionately  in  his  arms. 

ABELARD 

Here  will  we  bide, 
There  is  no  other  way. 

HELOISE,  struggling  to  be  released 

The  gate!    The  gate! 

ABELARD 

Do  we  not  know  that  ever  at  night  *tis  locked  ? 

HELOISE,  freeing  herself  from  his  embrace  and  running  to 
the  gate,  she  drags  at  it  with  all  her  strength. 

It  moves! 

The  gate  seems  to  yield  an  inch.  The  sounds  in  Fulbert^s 
house  increase.  Fulbert^s  voice  is  heard  shouting  for 
lights.  The  key  is  heard  fumbling  in  the  door  of  his 
house.  Bolts  are  withdrawn.  Abelard  stands  watching 
Heloise,   seemingly  stupefied.     Then  he  darts  forward 


ACT  i]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  59 

and  they  throw  their  united  strength  against  the  gate.  It 
opens  a  little  space  and  they  hurry  through  into  the  street^ 
just  before  Malart  rushes  in  jrom  Fulbert^s  house  closely 
followed  by  Fulbert. 

MALART 

Behold! 
They  both  look  about  and  find  the  court  empty. 

FULBERT 

Lies!    Lies!    O  damned 


He  turns  upon  Malart  and  seizes  him  by  the  throaty  dragging 
at  his  knife.  In  their  struggle,  however,  they  have 
neared  the  gate  and  suddenly  the  priest,  with  a  triumphant, 
choking  shout,  draws  Fulbert  nearer  and  points  to  the 
gate,  on  the  lock  of  which  there  hangs  a  fallen  white 
drapery  of  Heloise.  Malart  plucks  it  off,  points  mean- 
ingly to  the  open  doorway  and  gives  the  drapery  to  Fulbert. 

FULBERT,  staring  at  it 

Hers! 


Curtain. 


ACT  n 

A  fortnight  later,  A  large  and  sombre  room  in  Fulbert^s 
villa  at  Corbeil.  On  either  side  of  the  room  is  a  door^ 
and  at  the  back  is  a  large  double  doorivay  hung  with 
an  arras  oj  tapestry. 

Enter  Luce  from  one  side.  She  seats  herself  and  begins 
reading  a  book  which  she  has  brought.  Enter  to  her 
soon  after  from  a  door  on  the  opposite  side,  Heloise. 
She  pauses  after  taking  a  few  steps  and  seems  to  listen 
nervously. 

HELOISE 

What  sound  was  that? 

LUCE 

Where? 

HELOISE 

Here. 

LUCE 

Why,  I  heard  nothing. 

HELOISE,  as  though  to  herself 
What  can  it  be? 

She  walks  about  the  room,  staring  around  her  abstractedly. 
Luce  follows  her  with  her  eyes. 
60 


ACTii]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  6i 

LUCE 

The  house  is  very  still. 

HELOISE 

No,  something  has  been  clamorous  all  about, 
All  these  two  weeks. 

LUCE 

It  is  the  din  of  Paris 
Still  beating  in  your  ears. 

HELOISE 

Not  that. 

LUCE 

What  then? 

HELOISE 

Oh,  I  hear  silence  till  the  very  air 
Shrieks  out  my  sick  anxiety. 

LUCE 

Then  why 
Did  you  put  leagues  between  him  and  your  longing? 

HELOISE 

A  longer  staying  was  the  very  tune 
The  tongues  would  play  on. 


Time's  in  a  swoon. 


LUCE,  sighing 

It  is  weary  waiting. 


62  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  ii 

HELOISE,  still  moving  restlessly  about 
The  rooms  are  feverous. 
She  suddenly  stops,  still  listening  intently, 
Wkat's  that? 

LUCE,  also  listening 
A  door. 

HELOISE,  again  beginning  her  restless  walk  about  the  room 
The  very  doors  are  restless, 
The  ceilings  all  impend  with  dreadful  fears. 
The  floor's  a  sea.     The  walls  alone  are  quiet. 

LUCE,  rising  and  going  to  her  lovingly 
This  climbing,  baffled  longing  leads  to  sickness. 

HELOISE,  looking  at  her 
Are  my  eyes  altered  from  my  eyes  that  night? 

LUCE 

No. 

HELOISE 

Then  I  am  not  ill. 

Suddenly  starting. 

There,  some  one's  here. 
Ah. 

Her  face  lightens. 

LUCE,  going  to  an  open  window  at  the  back  and  leaning  jar 

out 
No,  your  uncle's  guests  from  Paris  come. 


ACTn]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  63 

HELOISE 

Who  else? 

LUCE,  half  turning  from  where  she  still  stands  by  the  window 
None,  now  they  enter  there  below. 

HELOISE,  with  a  gesture  oj  weariness 

So  I  must  be  reluctant  hostess  then 
And  don  my  mask  of  eager  welcoming. 

LUCE,  running  to  her 
No,  no.     Stay;  go  within — I'll  welcome  them. 

She  tries  to  lead  Heloise  from  the  room. 

HELOISE,  putting  her  off 
It  is  the  only  fitness.     I  have  been 
His  household's  mistress  and  they  know  no  other. 

LUCE 

I  beg  of  you. 

HELOISE,  looking  at  her 
Why? 

LUCE,  evading  her  gaze 

Oh,  never  ask. 
Sounds  are  heard  as  of  people  approaching  the  room. 

HELOISE 

They  come! 


64  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  ii 

Enter  guests.  They  are  gorgeously  apparelled^  ladies  and 
gentlemen  with  their  servants.  They  enter  slowly  with 
great  cerenumy^  and  upon  seeing  Heloise  they  Imlt  and 
stand  silent^  regarding  her  with  haughty  disdain.  The 
foremost  of  them  is  an  imposing-looking  woman  who  car- 
ries a  long  staff. 

Friends  of  this  house,  greeting  most  deep  to  all. 
Welcome  to  comfort  and  my  uncle's  bounty. 

The  guests  draw  themselves  slightly  apart  jrom  her, 

THE  FOREMOST  WOMAN,  looking  sneeringly  at  Heloise 

Our  host,  your  uncle,  follows  in  an  hour. 
He  bids  us  be  apportioned  to  our  chambers. 
On  his  arrival  he  will  welcome  us. 

HELOISE,  stonily 
The  steward  will  assign  you  to  your  halls. 

The  guests  slowly  and  insolently  pass  through  and  exeunt 
by  the  opposite  doorway. 

LUCE,  stamping  with  rage  as  they  go 
Cats,  and  poor  drooping  hounds ! 

As  they  slowly  go  out  the  last  guest  turns  and  comes  forward, 
showing  himself  to  be  Malart. 

MALART,  raising  his  lean  arms 

Peace  to  this  house. 


ACTii]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  65 

HELOISE,  rushing  toward  him 
Oh,  he  tamed  these  fingers  from  such  usage 
Or  you'd  see  something  savager  in  me 
Than  you've  yet  looked  on,  and  'twould  be  the  last 
Sight  in  those  rolling  eyes! 

MALART,  calmly 

What  cause  for  anger? 

HELOISE 

Think  what  you've  done  to  his  most  snowy  fame 
That  Hke  a  tower  rose  above  the  world, 
And  never  ask  again. 

MALART,  imperturhably 

Yet  I  do  ask  it. 

HELOISE 

You  led  the  embattled  filthy  tongues  of  Paris 
To  smear  their  sooty  maHce  over  it. 

MALART 

A  tower  never  fell  by  such  assault 
That  was  not  opened  to  attack  by  one 
Within  the  walls. 

HELOISE,  madly 

Then  Devil,  name  the  traitor. 

MALART,  with  sudden  fierceness 
You! 


66  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  n 

HELOISE,  aghast 
I? 

MALART 

Who  else?    You  two  alone  were  tenants, 
And  you  had  stolen  in  where  he  alone 
Chmbed  on  a  narrow  stair  to  his  own  place. 
The  tower  that  he  raised  will  not  contain 
Two;  it  is  too  slender.     He  builds  it  so; 
Builds  for  himself  alone,  the  lonelier  tower 
Will  pierce  the  higher  sky. 

HELOISE,  musing  sadly 

A  narrow  stair 

MALART,  coming  nearer  to  her 
I  once  conjured  you  by  his  soul's  salvation, 
I  now  conjure  you  by  his  own  desires; 
Take  from  between  them  and  his  eyes  your  shadow 
For  these  are  his  desires  which  he  evades, 
Looks  sidelong  at,  but  never  yet  was  blind  to. 
Though  in  the  devious  net  of  your  mad  wishes 
You  halt  his  feet. 

He  stops.     Heloise  stands  stricken  with  conviction.     Ma- 
lart  then  proceeds  with  a  more  careless  manner. 

Yet  I  bring  news  for  you. 

HELOISE 

Then  'tis  new  sorrow,  let  me  hear  its  name. 


ACTii]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  67 

MALART 

He  has  left  Paris. 

HELOISE 

Gone!    Ah,  where? 

MALART 

He  vanished 
After  one  day  had  shone  upon  your  absence. 

HELOISE 

Where?    Where? 

MALART,  coldly 

I  was  not  made  his  confidant. 

HELOISE 

But  my  departure  made  his  path  all  safe 
By  famishing  all  tongues  from  further  food. 

MALART 

Their  former  food  will  last,  they've  plenteous  store. 

HELOISE 

How  shall  I  starve  them? 

MALART,  turning  upon  her  suddenly 

Starve  them!    Starve  Desire! 
For  that's  assurance  of  their  further  food. 

HELOISE,  grasping  at  a  hope 
He  needed  rest.    He's  gone  to  follow  it. 
And  I'll  be  glad. 


68  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  n 

MALART,  returning  to  her 

The  school  is  all  seditious. 

HELOISE,  starting 
The  school! 

MALART 

It  breaks.     His  name  begins  a  riot. 
Student  kills  student  for  him  and  against. 

HELOISE,  piteously 
What  further  news? 

MALART 

No  more. 

HELOISE,  turning  away 

It  is  enough. 
A  bell  sounds  in  the  house, 

MALART 

God*s  voice  now  calls  me  to  my  prayers.    I  go. 

LUCE,  approaching  him 

With  Him  upon  your  side,  wearing  your  colors, 
Who  shall  prevail  against  you? 

MALART,  solemnly  accepting  her  mockery 

Not  this  world. 


ACTii]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  69 

LUCE 

I  would  my  strength  could  make  this  world  a  better 
By  sending  you  post-haste  into  a  worse. 

Exit  Malartf  unheeding. 

HELOISE 

And  this  from  me 

LUCE,  coming  to  her 
What? 

HELOISE 

Oh,  I  am  the  cause, 
I'm  the  cursed  reason  of  this  dread  result. 
The  school — his  very  heart — the  very  ladder 
Of  his  ascent,  is  being  overturned, 
And  I,  the  slippery  stone  from  which  it  falls. 

LUCE 

You!    You  are  his  safest  battlement  and  strength. 

HELOISE,  sadly 
Not  in  the  world's  eyes  and  by  them  he  climbed. 

LUCE 

They're  the  uncertain  ground  he  slips  upon. 
Not  you. 

HELOISE 

Yes  I,  the  world  is  jealous  of  me. 
He  is  the  world's. 


70  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE         [act  ii 

LUCE 

You  are  his  secret  strength. 

HELOISE 

Secret!    Yes  that's  the  word.     Only  in  shadow 
I  must  remain,  for  when  I  do  emerge, 
The  imperious  world,  his  mistress,  watching  him 
Sees  the  division  of  his  eyes  and  flaunts  him. 

LUCE,    sighing 

Time's  the  magician  that  will  smooth  it  all. 

Half  to  herself. 
Though  what  a  snail  he  is. 

HELOISE,  staring  at  Luce's  hand 

What's  that  you  wear? 
Going  closer  to  her. 

A  ring!    O  Luce!    And  on  a  telltale  finger! 

LUCE,  hiding  her  hand  confusedly 
I  could  not  keep  it  ofif. 

HELOISE 

Out  with  the  secret. 
Who? 

LUCE,  in  a  low  voice 
Gervase. 

HELOISE 

Wedded? 


ACTii]         ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  71 

LUCE 

On  the  night  we  left. 

HELOISE,  embracing  her 
Luce,  Luce,  you  left  him,  followed  me,  and  I 
Fed  with  self  pity,  mourned,  while  you  without 
Stood  waiting — waiting  him. 

She  turns  away. 

Oh,  shall  I  never 
Pluck  out  this  selfish  root  that  winds  about  me? 

LUCE,  going  to  her 

My  Love  and  I  are  safe,  our  battle's  won. 

No  evil  fortune  ever  envied  us. 

So  now  our  weapons  are  all  bright  for  you. 

HELOISE 

What  sacrifice  you  laid  upon  my  altar! 

LUCE,  soothingly 
Only  a  little  waiting. 

HELOISE 

But  your  fears? 

LUCE 

For  whom? 

HELOISE 

Gervase. 


72  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  ii 

LUCE,  smiling 

That  boy  is  always  safe. 
Trust  him.    If  all  the  rays  of  stars  were  spears 
He*d  glitter  at  them  till  their  aim  was  blinded. 

HELOISE 

How  shall  we  thank  you  both? 

LUCE 

By  winning  like  us. 

She  looks  meaningly  at  Heloise^  who  first  looks  away  sadly 
and  then  turns  and  impulsively  kisses  her. 

HELOISE 

A  wife!    O  sweet,  I  love  you  doubly  now. 

LUCE 

You'll  find  a  double  tenderness  in  me 

By  the  same  means  before  this  moon  fades  out, 

Touching  her  ring  and  taking  Heloise*s  hand. 
This  girdle  shall  be  mirrored  on  this  hand. 

HELOISE 

The  moon  might  bring  it  if  the  earth  were  gone, 
But  while  this  world  is  real  it  denies  me, 
For  it  holds  other  jewels  up  to  him 
That  far  outshine  this  humble,  quiet  thing. 

Looking  at  the  ring. 


ACT  ii]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  73 

LUCE 

But  with  the  others,  he  may  long  to  wear 
This  also 

HELOISE 

He  would  never  be  the  wearer; 

She  looks  at  her  hand. 
Only  this  selfish  hand  would  be  so  crowned. 

She  draws  Luce  to  her. 
But  ah  this  heart  of  his  flows  out  to  you! 

LUCE 

Love  me  and  wait.    Let's  go  now  to  our  chamber. 
HELOISE,  going 

Yes. 

LUCE 

And  I'll  follow  soon.    I'll  bring  the  books. 

Exit  Heloise.  Luce  goes  to  a  table  and  begins  gathering 
an  armjul  of  books.  As  she  does  so,  Gervase  stealthily 
and  theatrically  puts  his  head  in  at  the  doorway  at  the 
back  of  the  room. 

GERVASE 

Hist!      , 

LUCE,  turnings  seeing  him  and  throwing  both  arms  wide 
for  him 
Here! 


74  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  ii 

Gervase  is  magnificently  clothed  in  most  glittering  and  fop- 
pish garments.     Luce  Itolds  him  off  and  siirceys  him. 

You  thing  of  pearl,  what  cloud  rained  you? 

GERVASE,  ecstatically 

Inimitable  vision,  look  again. 

He  struts  about, 

Vm.  gold,  not  that  sweet  bauble  oysters  wear 

Unless 

Approaching  her  quizzically. 

You  are  that  fish,  for  I*m  your  gem. 

Suddenly  starting  with  mock  horror. 

Are  you  an  oyster?    Why,  now  I  look  closely, 

I  see  the  likeness. 

He  examines  her. 

And  your  lips  are  shut. 
Then  I'm  the  heron  that  shall  woo  you  out. 
Here  I  come  wading. 

He  affects  to  wade  slowly  toward  her  till  he  is  near,  then 
suddenly  he  clasps  her  and  takes  a  kiss, 

LUCE 

Madcap,  where  is  he? 

GERVASE 

Ask  of  the  sun.  I  cannot  look  upon  him; 
He  is  too  high.  And  yet  I  think  he  floats 
Somewhere  about  a  mile  above  this  place. 


ACT  ii]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  75 

LUCE,  joyjidly 
He  comes? 

GERVASE 

He  sinks  to  us. 

LUCE 

And  to  what  end? 

GERVASE 

To  take  that  sweet  star  that  lies  fallen  here 
Back  in  the  sky  with  him. 

LUCE,  clasping  her  hands 

Oh,  now  all's  well! 

GERVASE 

And  greater  things  than  these  are  yet  to  tell. 

First,  look  at  me! 

He  spins  about. 

I  cost  a  thousand  francs! 

LUCE,  smiling 

A  sorry  bargain 

She  stops  suddenly^  listening. 

Hush,  she  comes — go  back. 

He  retreats. 
ril  tell  her  softly. 

GERVASE,  running  to  her 
A  kiss! 


76  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  u 

LUCE,  kissing  him  hastily 

There — hide  yourself. 

Exit  Gervase  by  doorway  at  hack.     Enter  Heloise  by  side 
door. 

HELOISE 

Sweet,  1  waited,  but  the  room  was  lonely. 

LUCE 

Wait  here. 

She  goes  to  Heloise. 

A  sudden  question  stirs  within  me; 

You  said  awhile  ago  that  you  must  bide 

Deep  in  the  shadow  and  be  only  near  him 

In  secrecy. 

She  waits. 
HELOISE,  slowly 

It  grows  more  true  each  hour. 

LUCE 

Then  let  me  ask,  if  he  should  come — this  hour, 

Heloise  moves. 
Denying  need  of  secrecy  or  shadow, 
Would  you  not  walk  forth  with  him  in  the  sun? 

HELOISE 

You  dream  my  dreams  for  me. 

LUCE 

But  would  you  go? 


ACT  ii]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  77 

HELOISE 

First  I  must  know  whether  he  wished  the  sun 
Merely  to  smile  upon  us  and  be  glad, 
Or  whether  he  aspired  to  possess 
The  very  sun  itself. 

LUCE 

You  do  not  mean 
That  you  have  thoughts  of  now  renouncing  him! 

HELOISE,  desperately 

Oh,  never  that;  I  will  not — could  not  think  it! 
What  black  necessity  could  bring  such  death? 

LUCE,  wonderingly 
What  then? 

HELOISE,  slowly 

My  fate  may  force  me  to  deny 
My  wifehood's  crown  and  name  before  the  world. 

Approaching  Luce. 
Now  hate  me,  scorn  me  as  all  women  would. 

LUCE 

Oh,  marriages  by  priests  are  never  made! 

But  surely  being  woman,  you  prefer 

The  quietude  and  bright  security 

Within  the  confines  of  the  Church's  blessing. 


78  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  ii 

HELOISE 

Oh,  I  am  homesick  for  that  tender  land, 
For  only  in  that  climate  may  there  flourish 
Those  rarer  and  more  delicate,  finer  flowers 
That  Love  is  gardener  of:  for  all  outside 

Is  but  a  wide,  assaulted  sea.     And  yet 

She  broods. 
Even  the  sea  has  colors,  and  deep  down 
Sea  flowers  are,  and  some  seem  even  quiet. 

LUCE,  looking  at  her  sadly 
The  quiet  of  the  drowned. 

HELOISE,  putting  her  hand  on  Luce^s  lips 
Please,  please. 

LUCE 

But  vows — the  ring — would  be  the  bonds  to  hold 
him. 

HELOISE 

Ah,  for  the  moment  of  a  little  year 
It  would  be  light  beyond  the  sky  of  stars; 
And  then  his  path  would  lead  his  eyes  again 
On  to  some  higher  sky,  and  I  should  be 
Only  the  fetter,  weary  with  self-hate 
Because  I  held  him. 

LUCE 
Love  should  have  more  trust. 


ACT  II]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  79 

HELOISE 

I'll  trust  him  to  my  love,  and  trust  my  love 
To  him  that  neither  may  be  dashed  to  ruin. 

LUCE 

I  think  he  changes  and  grows  less  desirous 
Of  that  elusive  candle  of  his  fame. 

HELOISE 

Oh,  it  may  be — oh,  may  it  not  be,  Luce? 
May  time  not  work  some  sorcery  for  me? 
May  not  the  jealous  world  remould  his  vision; 
Turn  his  ambition's  gaze  to  other  heights — 
Not  lower,  but  more  tolerant  of  me? 

She  turns  away. 
I'll  cling  to  that.     I'll  watch  his  eyes  for  hope 
When  next  I  see  him.     Oh,  I'll  always  watch. 

She  suddenly  starts,  listening,  takes  one  eager  step  toward 
the  door  at  hack,  then  stops. 

LUCE 

Then  begin  now,  for  there's  a  step  you  know. 

Enter  Abelard. 
HELOISE,  wildly 
Abelard!    Oh,  your  life  is  not  safe  here! 

Gervase  appears  in  doorway  at  back.     He  beckons  to  Luce, 
who  goes  to  him  and  they  disappear. 


8o  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  u 

ABELARD 

Where  else  can  be  my  life  save  where  you  are? 

He  withdraws  from  her  embrace  and  stands  before  her. 
He  wears  the  trappitigs  of  a  twbleman. 

But  I  am  safe  and  come  to  tell  you  why, 
To  tell  you  and  to  claim  you  mine — mine  only. 
My  father's  dead  and  I  am  peer  of  France. 
And  before  all  men  you  shall  soon  be  hailed 
Countess  of  Berenger. 

HELOISE 

She  has  been  listening  eagerly ^  but  as  he  ends,  her  head 
sinks,  a  pause  ensues,  and  then  she  speaks  in  a  low  voice. 

And  then — what  then? 

ABELARD,  astounded 
Why,  is  it  not  enough?     We  two  shall  flee 
Far  from  this  rotten  and  calumnious  world 
And  in  long  quiet  rule  my  southern  hills. 

HELOISE 

And  then? 

ABELARD 

These  are  strange  thens  from  a  chosen  bride! 
What  else  but  find  forgetting  in  each  other? 

HELOISE,  looking  long  at  him 
Am  I  a  cup  of  Lethe  for  your  lips? 


ACT  II]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  8i 

ABELARD,  loudly 

You  shall  be  by  the  love  that  lifts  it  to  me. 

HELOISE 

Ah,  I  am  not  that  dark  river  itself 

With  inexhaustible  fountains  welling  always. 

ABELARD 

But  you  shall  be  to  me. 

HELOISE 

I  pray  not  so. 
Is  there,  dear  love,  no  other  happiness 
Than  to  forget? 

ABELARD 

What  dear  thing  could  be  dearer 
Going  to  her  more  tenderly  and  looking  closely  into  her  eyes. 

Than  in  these  purple  deeps  to  sink  and  drown? 

HELOISE 

What  of  the  school,  my  Abelard? 

ABELARD,  starting 

The  school! 

Moving  away. 
That  broken  ladder  that  I  climbed  upon 


82  '    ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  n 

HELOISE 

To  what? 

ABELARD 

To  what? 

Musing, 

Who  knows?    It  might  have  been 

With  a  sigh  he  returns  to  her. 

That  sky  is  past  now  over  the  world  *s  edge 
And  you  are  my  new  morning. 

HELOISE 

But  the  school? 

ABELARD,  gloomily 

I  shall  no  more  return  to  that  ascent. 
Our  path's  together 

HELOISE 

Even  though  it  leads  you 
Downwards? 

ABELARD,  vigorously 

I  care  not,  I  have  lost  ambition, 

HELOISE,  going  to  him 
Oh,  look  at  me  and  let  me  hear  you  say  it. 

ABELARD 

Once  I  have  said  it,  once  is  all  enough. 


ACT  ii]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  *  83 

HELOISE 

Would  you  in  that  far  province  be  content 
And  never  wake,  and  turn  and  look  at  me, 
Remembering? 

ABELARD,  avoiding  her  gaz^ 

I  would  steep  me  in  your  soul 
To  deep,  to  poppied  quiet. 

HELOISE,  moving  away 

Poppy  flowers 
Never  would  lull  you  to  forgetfulness 
Of  those  rehnquished  and  those  radiant  blooms 
That  once  you  might  have  gathered. 

ABELARD,  following  her  impatiently 

These  are  words. 
Why  do  we  use  them?    Here  behold  me  flown 
Quickly  to  spread  before  you  for  your  treading 
My  new- won  cloth  of  gold ;  to  share  with  you 
My  latest  dignity. 

HELOISE 

But  if  this  latest 
Should,  by  my  blind  acceptance,  be  the  last? 

ABELARD,  astonished 
Would  you  have  more  than  this? 


84  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  n 

ITELOISE 

Ah,  sweet, 
The  world  holds  more  than  this  bright  prize  for  you 
That  shines  so  large  for  being  seen  so  near. 

She  suddenly  goes  to  him. 
Oh,  does  it  not?    Tell  me  how  bright  it  seems. 

ABELARD 

I  never  wanted  this  false  world's  applause. 

HELOISE 

Never? 

ABELARD 

I  dreamed  of  it,  but  now*s  the  waking. 

HELOISE 

But  other  wakings  upon  other  dawns — 
Must  they  not  come? 

ABELARD,  looking  at  her  coldly 

Your  ways  grow  strange  to  me. 

HELOISE 

O  Tenderest,  O  Best,  forgive  these  ways. 
For  I  do  know  this  heaven  you  offer  me, 

This  deep  bewildering  path  of  asphodel 

She  pauses. 
And  yet  all  very  clear  and  gently  simple — 
All  white — all  plain.     Oh,  does  it  not  seem  so? 


ACTii]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  85 

ABELARD 

No  Other  path  is  plain;  no  other  open. 

HELOISE 

Know  first,  whatever  chances,  that  1  thank  you 
For  this  most  mighty  honor,  this  great  crown 
That  you  would  set  upon  this  yearning  brow. 

ABELARD 

Would  set  and  shall  set. 

HELOISE 

Is  it  not  enough 
That  you  have  offered  it?     I  shall  remember, 
And  that  white  memory  shall  crown  me  always. 

ABELARD 

You  shall  not  need  your  memories,  we  shall  make 
Each  hour  more  real. 

HELOISE 

Will  any  be  more  real 
Than  the  old  hours  within  our  shadefast  quiet 
Before  the  world  broke  in? 

ABELARD 

Ah,  now  I  see! 
You  fear  the  world ! 


86  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  n 

HELOISE,  sighing  a  negation 
Ah! 

ABELARD,  following  his  clew 

Then  some  one 


He  ponders^  then  brightens. 
Your  uncle! 
This  faintness,  this  indifiference  to  me 
Are  the  sick  maskings  of  a  mind  afraid. 
But  now  be  soothed;  I  bring  his  purchase  price; 

Calling  attention  to  his  dress. 
This  pettiness  of  my  new  worldly  station. 

HELOISE,  gazing  at  him 
Does  this  new  station  seem  already  petty? 

ABELARD,  morosely 
It  grows  more  stagnant,  small,  monotonous 

Each  hour 

He  suddenly  brightens  as  though  casting  off  his  mood. 
But  happiness  is  just  beyond! 

HELOISE 

Beyond? 

ABELARD 

You  hold  it  for  me,  you  shall  give  it 
When  we  are  forged  and  welded  into  one. 

Heloise  moves  dumbly  toward  the  door. 
WTiere  now? 


ACTii]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  87 

HELOISE 

Dear  Love,  I  go  to  be  a  while 
Alone.    I'll  send  one  with  your  chamber's  key. 

ABELARD,  jollowifig  her  toward  the  door 
What's  this?    I  cannot  fathom  you;  that  now 
On  my  return,  all  flame,  into  your  arms. 
You  damp  my  ardor,  coldly  turn  away. 

HELOISE,  suddenly  turning  and  throwing  her  arms  about 

htm 
Oh,  do  you  love  me? 

ABELARD 

Yes. 

HELOISE,  releasing  hers  el j  after  a  pause 
It  is  enough. 
She  goes  to  door  at  side. 
I  shall  return,  perhaps  with  better  fire. 

Exit  Heloise, 

Abelard  stands  looking  after  her  gloomily  for  a  moment,  a 
servant  appears  at  doorway^  backy  bearing  keys,  to  conduct 
Abelard  to  his  rooms.  Abelard  sees  him  and  finally  with 
an  impatient  gesture  turns  to  go  with  him.  As  he 
reaches  the  doorway,  back,  he  is  confronted  by  Malart 
returning. 

MALART,  after  a  pause 
I  find  you  in  strange  places,  Master  mine. 


88  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  u 

ABELARD,  sternly 

And  I  suspect  you  of  still  stranger  things. 
Why  are  you  here? 

MALART,  impertiirhahly 
And  you? 

ABELARD 

I'll  not  brook  questions. 

MALART 

You  wear  a  coronet  now,  I  have  heard. 

ABELARD 

An  honorable  one. 

MALART 

And  it  can  aid  you 
To*  greater  place  than  ever  could  have  crowned  you 
From  your  old  humbler  station. 

ABELARD,  avaiding  his  direct  gaze 
It  may  be. 

MALART,  coming  closer 
And  yet  you  bring  it  here. 

ABELARD,  recovering  his  bearing 
Why  not? 


ACTii]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  89 

MALART 

For  what? 

ABELARD 

You  asked  the  question;  you  can  answer  it. 

MALART,  after  a  long  look  at  him 
Brother,  the  holy  synod  has  convened. 

ABELARD 

So  it  has  done  before. 

MALART 

Never  so  wisely, 
For  they  discuss  and  favor  an  alliance 
Between  the  University  and  Rome! 

ABELARD,  starting 
At  last!    So  then  I've  won  that  next  high  step! 

Now  with  the  Church's  treasury  and  power 

He  muses. 

MALART 

Why,  then,  do  you  wait  here? 


ABELARD,  looking  Up 

Ah,  here's  the  place 
Better  than  any,  when  good  news  arise, 
Here  I  can  share  them! 

MALART 

Share  them,  in  what  way? 


90  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  n 

ABELARD 

In  every  way  that  blessing  makes  secure. 

MALART,  following  him  about 
Then  rouse  your  sleeping  memory. 

ABELARD,  stopping 

Memory? 

MALART 

You  know  the  Church's  and  all  Europe's  law; 
Masters  and  tutors  of  the  fledgling  youth 
Shall  be  and  must  be  ever  celibate! 

ABELARD,  ivith  sudden  desperation 

So  this  is  what  you  do;  you  bring  a  cup 
Perfect  to  appease  my  thirsty  longing, 
And  then,  when  it  brims,  glowing  against  my  lips, 
Shatter  it! 

MALART,  quietly 

No,  the  cup  is  perfect  yet. 

ABELARD,  walking  excitedly  about 
Never,  now,  never  shall  it  quench  me. 

MALART,  going  to  him 

Why? 

ABELARD 

You  seek  to  hear  what  you  already  know. 


ACT  ii]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  91 

MALART 

You  Still  hold  now  your  former  mad  intent? 

ABELARD,  halting 

Though  it  should  lead  me  to  the  tottering  verge 

Of  tideless  death  and  past  it,  I  will  follow. 

For  in  her  eyes  there  is  a  better  thing; 

IVe  seen  it — and  upon  an  instant  breathed 

Airs  out  of  Paradise 

He  pauses. 

though  the  place  itself 
No  longer  is. 

MALART 

And  you  would  lose  the  world 
For  the  poor  sake  of  that  one  instant's  breath? 

ABELARD,  fixedly 

When  on  the  altar  our  fierce  double  fires 
Are  woven  into  one,  I  then  shall  live 
Within  that  odorous  and  that  golden  air 
Always ! 

MALART,  sneeringly 
You  speak  of  altars  easily. 

ABELARD 

There's  not  a  church  in  France  will  not  unite  us. 

MALART,  approaching  him 
Against  her  will? 


92  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE         [act  it 

ABELARD 

What  vacant  words  are  these? 

MALART 

She*ll  never  fold  her  wings  to  fit  that  nest; 
She  knows  of  wilder  and  more  easy  skies. 

ABELARD 

Then  you  know  little  of  the  love  she  holds. 

MALART 

I  never  doubted  her  desire  of  you. 

ABELARD,  looking  long  at  htm 
Speak  the  lame  thing  that  halts  behind  your  eyes. 

MALART,  u*ith  assumed  carelessness 
No  need.     She  has  herself  begun  to  speak. 

ABELARD,  impatiently  turning  away 
Why  do  I  listen  to  this  emptiness? 

MALART,  stopping  him 
One  further  word. 

ABELARD 

Of  what? 

MALART 

I  seek  for  knowledge. 
Be  tribunal  for  me  who  am  a  priest : 
When  woman  shall  deny  her  womanhood 
What  shall  be  said  of  her? 


ACT  ii]         ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  93 

ABELARD   wonderingly 
Deny? 

MALART 

When  she, 
Offered  a  table  spread  with  hallowedness, 
Dechnes,  forsakes,  rejects  it  and  returns 
To  honied  husks  and  fleshpots  she  has  known 
Outside  the  all  too  sternly  bitter  law, 
When  being  offered  honorable  veils 
She  turns  a  wilful,  bold,  and  naked  face 
By  wild  refusal  of  the  name  of  wife? 

ABELARD,  seizing  him 
Malart,  you  dog!    What  intimation's  this? 

MALART,  with  ajjected  simplicity 
None,  I  have  none  in  mind,  but  only  seek 
For  a  wise  judgment  upon  such  a  woman. 

ABELARD 

Be  carefuller  of  your  life,  you  gnaw  upon  me 

Like  a  bHnd  querulous  worm.    Why  do  you  ask  this  ? 

MALART 

Only  to  know  of  womankind  from  one 
Who  knows  them  well. 

ABELARD,  -flinging  him  off  toward  the  door 
I  would  be  rid  of  you. 


94  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  n 

MALART,  standing  by  doorway 
First,  judgment  on  the  case  of  my  supposing 

ABELAED 

A  vain  supposing 

MALART 

There  are  many  women 

ABELARD 

None  would  be  such  a  wanton  and  a  fool. 

MALART,  starting  triumphantly 

So!    I  have  found  firm  rock  in  you  at  last! 

Enter  Heloise  by  door  at  side.    She  is  paler  and  more 
listless  than  before. 

Now  let  this  entering  sea  wear  it  away! 

Exit  Malart. 
ABELARD 

The  seal  He  named  you  so — are  you  indeed 
That  soft  insistent  deep  that  breaks  upon  me, 
Wearing  my  granite-like  conviction  down? 

HELOISE 

I  would  not  be  so. 

ABELARD 

Then  forget  those  words 
That  late  you  uttered. 


ACTii]         ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  95 

HELOISE 

What  words  do  you  mean? 

ABELARD 

Hesitant,  weak,  evasive — all  unfit 

To  match  that  radiance  that  we  two  have  known. 

HELOISE,  painjully 

O  Love,  I  would  not  seem  to  you  so  poor, 
So  lacking. 

ABELARD 

Is  it  so?    Then  speak  again. 
Efface  those  former  words  by  better  ones. 

HELOISE 

What  shall  I  speak  of? 

ABELARD 

If  you  love  me,  show  it. 

HELOISE,  in  a  low  voice 
By  words? 

ABELARD 

There  is  a  time  when  words  are  needed. 


HELOISE,  listlessly 
What  would  you  have  me  say? 


96  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  n 

ABELARD 

What  heavy  strangeness 
Is  this,  that  you,  who  were  the  very  voice 
And  instrument  that  made  Love  musical, 
Are  dumb? 

HELOISE 

1*11  speak  then  of  whatever  thing 
You  wish  of  me. 

ABELARD 

Of!    "Of"  is  not  enough! 
What  is  the  word  and  how  the  thing  is  said. 

HELOISE 

What  shall  it  be? 

ABELARD,  impatiently 

Do  you  no  longer  love  me? 

HELOISE,  in  a  monotone 
I  love  you. 

ABELARD,  pondering  a  moment 
That  seems  now  no  longer 
To  be  enough.     Give  me  your  eager  answer 
To  bear  that  joy  that  I  would  share  with  you 
As  I  have  sought. 

HELOISE,  suddenly  going  to  him  and  putting  her  hands  on 
his  shoulders 
Oh,  ask  me  once  again. 


ACT  II]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  97 

ABELARD,  not  meeting  her  gaze 
What  shall  I  ask? 

HELOISE 

What  you  desire  of  me. 

ABELARD 

How!    Are  you  deaf? 

HELOISE,  as  to  herself 

Oh,  I  am  listening. 

ABELARD 

I  only  seek  to  have  you  follow  me. 

HELOISE,  still  watching  him 
And  you? 

ABELARD 

Away  with  thoughts  and  cares  of  me! 
For  I  have  pulled  the  unselfish  flower  of  love, 
And  see  how  brighter  than  all  laurels  are 
The  petals  of  it. 

HELOISE,  steadily  J  after  gazing  long  at  him 
I'll  follow  you  while  I  am  Heloise 
And  you  the  Abelard  that  desires  it  so. 

ABELARD 

Why,  this  is  all  I  sought. 

He  moves  away  and  then  turns  back  to  her. 
We'll  go  at  once 
To  Paris. 


98  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  ii 

HELOISE 

Oh,  not  there! 

ABELARD 

And  why? 

HELOISE 

Not  yet; 
Until  that  storm  subsides. 


Shall  clear  that  sky. 


ABELARD 

We  are  the  powers 

HELOISE 

How? 

ABELARD 

By  our  joined  hands. 
There  by  the  altar's  potent  sacrament 
This  tempest  of  foul  tongues  will  all  be  stilled. 

HELOISE,  with  a  mighty  effort 
Not  to  that  altar  can  I  ever  come. 

ABELARD,  taking  several  steps  backward  and  surveying  her 
dumjounded 

Your  soul  veers  ever  like  a  windy  flame; 

This  moment  fledged  your  glad  consent  to  follow, 

And  now  you  pierce  it  with  this  strange  denial! 


ACTii]         ABELARD   AND  HELOISE  99 

HELOISE,  looking  away  from  him 

I  did  consent  to  go  where  you  may  lead 
While  you  may  wish  it. 

ABELARD 

What! 

He  instinctively  shrinks  away  from  her. 

O  hellish  thought! 
You  would  put  off  that  white  and  holy  veil 
To  cling  to  nakedness? 

HELOISE 

I'll  still  be  clothed 
In  secret  robes  and  many  hidden  veils. 

She  pauses  and  then  speaks  brokenly. 
I  pray  you  wait  and — you  shall  see  me  wear  them. 

ABELARD,  lifting  his  hands  above  his  head 
This  makes  the  sky  itself  a  brazen  thing. 

HELOISE 

I  pray  you,  do  not  think  of  me,  but  turn 
Your  eyes  upon  yourself  in  this  wild  hour. 
All  this  large  world  is  yours  and  you  the  world's 
Knitted  and  welded  in  joint  ownership. 
I  am  but  one  of  all  your  wide  possessions. 


loo  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  [act  ii 

ABELARD,  staring  at  her 

By  some  damned  echo  his  prophecy  has  brought 
This  spell  upon  you.     Waken!    Shake  it  off! 

HELOISE 

This  day  for  the  first  time  I  have  awakened 
And  shall  not  sleep  again. 

ABELARD,  after  considering  for  a  time 
Evil  like  this 
Also  should  waken  me,  and  yet  I  find 
My  dream-like  flame  leans  to  you  still  unquenched. 

HELOISE 

May  we  not  strive  now  to  forget  this  hour? 

ABELARD 

Only  by  changing  can  it  be  effaced. 

HELOISE 

I — cannot — change.     But  you — perchance — it  may 

be- 
Afterwards — on  a  day — may  we  not  see 
Even  our  way  to  that  same  altar  at  last? 

ABELARD 

But  even  now  that  way  is  easiest. 

HELOISE,  quickly 

Yes. 


ACT  II]         ABELARD  AND  IIeLOTSIi:    "'     "lii 

ABELARD 

Then  recall  that  insane  sudden  urge 
To  journey  on  the  impassable  thorny  road, 
When  this  fair  garden  is  accessible. 

HELOISE 

Are  there  no  other  gardens? 

ABELARD 

If  there  are, 
Only  together  can  we  win  their  fruits. 

HELOISE 

What  is  that  fruitage? 

ABELARD 

All  that  this  good  world 
Can  give! 

HELOISE 

Even  now  you  did  despise  that  world. 

ABELARD 

So  to  compare  it  with  my  need  of  you. 

HELOISE 

O  Love,  the  way  is  easy  only  here. 
Pray  let  me  be  a  roadside  well  for  you 
That  you  shall  find  and  find  again  wherever 
The  path  shall  lead  you  and  your  thirst  shall  be. 


I02  ABELARt)  AND   HELOISE         [act  ii 

Drink  then  of  me  and  be  refreshed  and  quickened. 
But  never  let  me  be  the  sleeping  draught 
The  altar  would  distil  of  me  for  you. 

ABELARD 

A  deeper  evil  than  these  words  you  speak 
Could  never  come  from  woman. 

HELOISE 

Pray  be  kinder. 

ABELARD 

I  would  have  been  content  in  such  a  bondage. 
You  could  have  made  it  sweet. 

HELOISE 

Is  bondage  ever? 
Cords  of  fine  silk  and  fetters  of  soft  gold 
In  time  will  gall. 

ABELARD 

Why  do  I  stand  here  so, 
And  hear  alluring  vileness  painted  so, 
Who  am  already  compassed  in  a  net? 

He  goes  desperately  about  the  room. 

But  I  will  tear  it— I'll  be  rid  of  it. 
And  you,  the  wearer 

HELOISE,  wildly 
Abelard ! 


Acxn]        ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  103 

ABELARD,  more  calmly 

No,  not  that. 
Musing  half  to  himself, 

'Tis  not  so  easy  even  now.    I'll  not 

Give  pain  to  you  who  pour  so  much  upon  me. 

But  what's  the  way? 

Heloise  suddenly  starts  toward  the  doorway  at  hack^  a  noise 
is  heard  without  and  Fulbert  appears  at  the  door  in  trav- 
eling costume  with  his  men  behind. 

FULBERT 

Ha!  here's  my  rat  at  last! 
Trapped  at  the  bait! 

He  walks  around  Abelard  with  jerocious  deliberation^  then 
halts  and  shouts  to  his  men. 

Bring  irons,  ho! 

HELOISE 

Hold  and  listen! 
He  is  not  now  the  man  you  took  him  for. 

FULBERT 

Off,  desperate  fool,  I  know  him  but  too  well. 

HELOISE 

He  has  a  place  at  the  King's  council — 


I04  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE         [act  ii 

FULBERT 


What! 


HELOISE 

— being  Lord  of  Berenger! 

FULBERT 

By  what  new  coil? 

HELOISE 

No  coil  indeed,  but  death.     His  father's  heir 
Wears  his  descended  cloak. 

FULBERT,  meaningly 

I  thought  his  father 
Would  have  outlived  him;  but  that  makes  no  less 
His  damned  offence. 

ABELARD 

I  have  come  here  to  whiten 
Those  black  offendings  by  my  proffered  hand 

HELOISE,  starting  between  them 

No — no 

ABELARD 

in  honorable  marriage  to  her. 

HELOISE 

No 


ACT  II]         ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  105 

FULBERT,  turning  upon  her 

Peace. 

To  Ahelard. 
So!    Is  it  so? 

Pondering  deeply. 

de  Berenger — 
Here  is  a  way  to  paten  up  broken  hopes. 

Again  to  Ahelard. 
What  can  you  ofiFer? 

ABELARD 

I  have  said,  my  hand. 
Heloise  dumbly  tries  to  prevent  his  speaking. 

FULBERT,  sneeringly 

What  does  the  hand  hold,  that  is  now  the  mark? 
What  lands?    What  coffers?    Are  you  fat  or  lean? 
Marred  though  she  is  I  hold  her  at  great  figures. 

ABELARD,  haughtily 

My  secretary  in  the  servants'  hall 

Is  keeper  of  my  books.    He'll  broke  with  brokers. 

FULBERT,  wrapped  in  his  new  scheme 

So?    I'll  go  see.     The  thing  may  be  arranged. 
I'll  price  you.     I  will  weigh  you,  and  perchance 
This  sorry  barter  can  be  well  exchanged. 

Exit  Fulbertj  muttering  to  himself. 


io6  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  n 

ABELARD 

Now  it  must  be.     He's  set  upon  this  track. 
There  can  be  no  retreating  now  for  you. 

HELOISE,  half  to  herself 

What  path?     Oh,  I  am  dazed  in  a  web. 
Danger  was  in  my  silence,  danger  in  speech. 

ABELARD 

Do  you  remain  in  that  most  damned  denial 
Of  both  our  better  selves? 

HELOISE 

I  must  not  change. 

ABELARD,  leaving  her 

What  can  it  mean?    No  other  human  woman 
Would  hold  unalterably  to  such  foul  madness. 

He  suddenly  stops. 

Ah,  can  it  come  from  too  great  weight  of  learning? 

He  goes  to  her. 

Books,  books  have  woven  all  this  wrong  around  you. 

Terrible  crimes  of  old,  dead  evil  tales, 

Wild  bloody  griefs  and  agonies  unnamed 

Have  crept  into  your  blood,  and  there  envenomed 

Your  maiden  judgment. 


Acxn]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  107 

HELOISE 

The  thing  I  mean  to  do 
Was  never  on  a  written  page  set  down. 

ABELARD 

Surely  this  cloud  upon  your  brain  will  pass, 
But  while  it  stays,  some  danger  threatens  us. 

He  looks  about  him. 

Your  uncle  is  jaundiced  with  the  yellow  of  gold, 
And  swollen  monstrous  to  a  thing  of  dread. 

HELOISE 

While  you  remain,  I'll  shield  you  from  his  hand. 

ABELARD,  still  looking  obout  a^td  shuddering 

Vague  fear  surrounds  me.     We  must   leave   this 

house. 
This  air  is  rotten,  dank,  detestable. 
Its  glooms  have  poisoned  you  from  purity. 
Go  to  Argenteuil  where  your  childhood  was. 
Its  flowers  will  woo  you  back  to  innocence. 

HELOISE 

Without  you?    No. 


I'll  never  follow. 


ABELARD 

Unless  you  go  at  once 


io8  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  n 

HELOISE 

But  if  I  do  go 
When  will  you  come  to  me? 

ABELARD 

When  I  have  gone 
First  to  Paris  where  great  business  calls  me. 
We  must  not  stay,  but  in  an  hour  go. 
I  will  have  horses  hidden  in  the  orchard 
And  ride  with  you  until  our  paths  diverge. 
He  turns  from  her  suddenly^  overtaken  by  his  former  mood. 

Oh,  damnable  hour  that  Hfe  should  bring  me  this! 
I  seem  to  be  attainted  with  your  madness. 
I'll  go  and  think. 

He  ?rwves  toward  the  door  and  speaks  half  musingly  as  he 
goes, 

Thirik  what?    And  how  escape? 

Exit  Abelard. 

Heloise  stands  white  and  tottering  for  a  moment  and  then 
calls  Luce,     Enter  Luce. 

HELOISE 

Now  make  me  ready  for  a  journey,  Sweet, 
For  I  am  going. 

LUCE,  joyfully 
Ah,  you've  seen  at  last 
The  better,  easier  way. 


ACT  n]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  109 

HELOISE 

Better — perhaps 

LUCE,  looking  at  her 
You  chose  the  other!    Why? 

HELOISE,  turning  away 

Do  you  remember 
Sad  Lucan  singing  in  his  battle  cry 
Of  how  on  Lesbos  once  the  white  Cornelia, 
Receiving  message  of  her  husband's  death, 
Whom  she  by  marriage  had  brought  evil  on, 
Mourned  to  the  phantom  of  her  loved  one's  face. 
While  his  gray  awful  manes  came  all  about 
And  watched  her  keep  a  dagger  in  her  hand 
While  she  died  on  it?    Oh,  the  dagger  first, 
She  should  have  used  it  first  before  she  wedded. 

LUCE,  clasping  her 
Rest  here  a  little. 

HELOISE,  loosing  herself 

I  must  haste.    And  now 
I'll  say  farewell  and  send  you  to  your  love. 

LUCE 

I'll  never  leave  you. 


no  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  n 

HELOISE,  putting  her  off  sadly 

Take  a  double  blessing; 
My  portion  that  I  put  away  from  me 
Take  for  your  own  and  have  in  double  store. 

She  kisses  Luce's  brow. 

The  blessing  of  deep  peace  now  take  from  me. 
Safety's  a  blessing,  then  receive  that  too. 
The  joy  of  going  forth  into  the  day 
Untaunted  by  the  world,  that  too  I  give  you. 

LUCE 

The  path  you  choose  will  cause  you  to  deny 
Thousands  of  joys  like  these 

HELOISE,  continuing  as  unhearing 

And  you  shall  see 
Young  faces  round  your  hearth. 

Her  head  sinks. 

LUCE 

O  Piteous  Heart 


HELOISE 

This  I,  who  shall  not  see  them,  give  to  you. 

LUCE 

But  what  shall  you  have  left? 


ACT  II]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  iii 

HELOISE 

Ah,  him  I  have 


She  pauses.     Then  kisses  Luce. 

Go,  then,  and  gather  my  few  jewels  up, 
For  I  must  bring  him  all  the  dower  I  have. 

Luce  moves  sadly  toward  the  door, 

HELOISE,  calling 
Luce. 

Luce  returns  to  her. 

Once  more — the  ring. 

LUCE,  wonderingly 

What  ring? 
Heloise  looks  at  Luce^s  hand. 
You  mean ? 

HELOISE 

This  one;  I'll  only  look  at  it  once  more. 

She  examines  it. 

It  seems  a  Httle  thing.    Ah,  never  fear, 

I  will  not  put  it  on. 

She  gives  it  back. 

And  now  prepare  me. 

Luce  moves  toward  the  door,  Heloise  follows  her^  but  sounds 
are  heard  without  and  they  stop^  listening.  The  noise 
grows  and  resolves  itself  into  the  sound  of  Fulbert^s  voice 


112  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  u 

and  oj  people  approaching.  Enter  Fulbert  by  doorway  at 
back.  He  is  beckoning  and  calling  to  his  guests  and 
household  who  follow  him,  entering  the  room  atid  arrang- 
ing themselves  en  masse  at  one  side.  They  stare  at 
Heloise  opposite  them  with  sneers  and  insolent  bearing. 

FULBERT 

HoaU! 

Heloise  starts  to  go.     Fulbert  detains  her. 

Stay  here. 

To  servants. 

Summon  the  rest  to  me. 

Exeunt  servants,  who,  while  he  is  speaking,  enter  with  other 
guests.  He  mutters  to  himself  while  the  guests  are  ar- 
ranging themselves. 

'Twill  pass — far  richer  than  I  thought — safe  profits 

Looking  up. 

Here's  news  for  you  and  I'll  be  Fortune's  herald ; 
A  fortunate  marriage;  a  great  marriage  made! 

A  stir  among  the  guests. 
My  niece!    Ah — so  you  thought  her  virginal! 

The  guests  look  meaningly  at  each  other. 

We've  kept  it  dark,  great  holdings  were  involved — 
Deeds  must  be  signed,  agreements  ratified. 
But  now  all's  fixed.     Greet  her  and  joy  with  her. 
The  Lady  Heloise  de  Berenger, 


ACT  II]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  113 

By  God's  and  Peter's  Church's  sanctioning 
The  consort  of  Count  Pierre  called  Abelard, 
Master  of  treasures  in  rich  Bretagne. 

During  this  speech  Heloise  has  first  made  a  frantic  gesture 
as  though  to  prevent  her  uncle's  words;  but  as  he  pro- 
ceeds she  seems  to  calm  herselj  and  stands  looking  straight 
before  her.  As  her  uncle  ceases  there  is  a  pause^  during 
which  he  looks  triumphantly  at  his  surprised  and  crest- 
fallen guests,  Heloise  steps  forward  with  deliberation 
and  begins  to  speak. 

HELOISE 

Uncle,  your  rashness  has  discharged  a  bolt 

Straight  up  against  the  inexorable  air, 

And  such  must  fall  upon  the  sender's  head. 

I  would  have  spared  you  this  last  public  wound 

Who  have  brought  upon  you  so  much  private  grief 

Unwillingly.    Yet  I  must  speak  at  last. 

If  this  announcement  I  have  heard  be  truth. 

Then  that  bright  truth  whose  face  reflects  my  heart 

Has  swum  into  a  black  eclipse  from  you. 

If  this  be  truth  and  you  are  all  awake, 

Then  I  am  sleeping  and  speak  this  in  sleep. 

If  truth's  alive  and  you  have  heard  his  voice, 

Then  I  am  dead  and  you  behold  my  phantom. 

Fulbert  moves  to  prevent  her,  but  she  goes  on. 

But  truth's  alive  and  I'm  alive  and  waking, 

As  to  herselj' 


114  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  ii 

Though  I  may  hear  my  voice  as  in  a  dream. 
The  guests. look  at  each  other  with  malignant  satisfaction. 

Listen  and  know  I  am  awake.     I  hear 
Whispers  about  me,  little  buzzing  stings, 
I  see  the  skirt  withdrawn,  the  eyes  that  pass  me, 
And  smiles  that  are  too  slant  to  make  me  glad. 
Then  hear  that  what  my  uncle  says  is  false. 
Hear  how  my  voice  cries  false  into  your  ears. 
Let  them  remember  how  it  thundered  ** False!" 
And  let  them  echo  always  "False,  False!" 

FULBERT,  rushing  wildly  forward 

What!    O   fool  unspeakable,   dehrious   mumming 
fool! 

The  guests  J  maliciously  delighted^  begin  to  move  toward 
door  at  hack,     Fulhert  stays  them. 

Hold,  wait!    A  lie — mistake — let  me  consider 

He  muses  frantically  for  a  moment. 

What  hope's  left.  He  looks  up  illuminated. 

Ah!  To  Heloise. 

Now  nail  your  insane  tongue 
Fast  to  your  mouth's  roof  and  I'll  save  us  yet. 

To  guests. 

A  small  mistake — my  niece  would  be  precise — 

Those  little  niceties  of  her  sex's  mind — 

Not  yet — she  says — she  has  not  quite  been  wedded— 


ACT  II]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  115 

The  outward  vows  and  mutterings  at  the  altar — 
Not  yet,  only  betrothed  she'd  have  me  say. 

Heloise  moves.     The  guests  appear  again  baffled.     Fiilhert 
again  proceeds  triumphantly. 

And  so  her  rich  betrothal  I  announce, 

And  more ;  this  night  all  here  shall  see  the  marriage ! 


A  word! 


HELOISE 
FULBERT 

Not  one. 

Enter  Abelard.     He  halts  with  amazement  just  within  the 
doorway, 

HELOISE 

It  will  take  more  than  one. 

She  goes  in  front  of  her  uncle.     He  tries  to  prevent  her. 

He  whose  high  name  has  here  and  otherwhere 
Been  linked  with  mine  has  given  me  enough, 
I  wear  a  purple  that  no  flower  can  yield. 
He  made  the  sun  and  moon  my  diadem. 
The  hours  I  know  of  are  about  my  soul. 
Like  a  high  wall  against  assailing  tongues. 
He  has  been  free  before  and  shall  be  ever. 
Free  to  pursue  that  upward  path  he  walks 
Toward  that  high  radiance  that  is  his  ambition. 


ii6  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  ii 

Free  to  be  first  himself,  and  afterwards 

To  be  the  world's  and  glory's — being  free. 

On  the  bright  mountains  of  whatever  star 

Looks  down  upon  his  any  need  of  me 

My  throne  is  fixed  and  there  I'll  reign  for  him 


The  guests  with  malice  triumphant  move  toward  the  door 
and  exeunt  with  looks  and  sneers  askance.  Heloise 
slowly  goes  toward  doorway  followed  by  Luce.  As  they 
pass  Abelard  he  speaks  aside  to  her. 

ABELARD,  in  a  hurried  whisper^  aside  to  Heloise 
Mad,  mad — to  Argenteuil — the  horses  wait. 

HELOISE,  pleadingly 
You,  with  me. 

ABELARD 

To  the  crossing  road  to  Paris. 

Exeunt  Heloise  and  Luce.  Abelard  takes  a  step  toward 
Fulberty  who  is  standing  paralyzed  by  his  monstrous  afid 
impotent  jury,  but  as  he  sees  Fulbert^s  face  he  turns  slowly 
and  goes  out  by  the  door  opposite  to  that  through  which 
Heloise  passed.  Fulbert  is  now  left  alone  with  three  of 
his  henchmen. 

FULBERT 

Lost!    Sixty  thousand  guilders  and  the  name! 

He  suddenly  beckons  to  his  three  henchmen. 

Approach! 

He  points  to  Abelard* s  retreating  figure. 


ACT  II]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  117 

Mark  that  pale  pestilence  going  there, 
For  this  disease  is  all  of  his  infection ! 

With  jrantic  questioning. 
The  cure? 

A  HENCHMAN,  insidiously 

When  a  man's  life  is  tedious  to  you 
Then  end  it. 

FULBERT 

Faugh!    That's  Mercy's  sedative. 
He  muses,  then  with  fiendish  cunning  suddenly  looks  up, 

I  have  it!    Ah!    The  man— but  not  the  life! 

He  draws  the  men  closer  and  they  whisper  together. 


Curtain. 


ACT  III 

Three  months  later.  The  garden  oj  the  Abbey  oj  Argen- 
teuil.  The  garden  is  enclosed  on  the  left  by  the  Abbey 
buildings y  into  which  there  is  a  doorway.  There  is 
also  a  flight  of  stairs  on  the  outside  oj  the  building 
leading  up  to  a  small  balcony  at  an  upper  window. 
At  the  back  and  on  the  right  the  garden  is  enclosed  by  a 
stone-covered  cloister ^  in  the  right  corner  oj  which  is  a 
gateway  now  closed.  On  the  right  is  a  fountain.  In 
the  foreground  and  surrounded  by  flowers  is  a  large 
low  sundial  of  white  marble^  about  two  feet  high  and 
six  feet  in  diameter.  Through  the  foliage  of  the  gar- 
den can  he  seen  here  and  there  stone  benches  and  small 
oratories.  It  is  about  two  hours  before  noon.  In  the 
garden  are  the  three  young  nuns.  Cecile  is  kneeling 
at  an  altar  set  against  the  wall  at  hack.  Teresa  is 
reclining  against  the  sundial  asleep.  Monica  is  stand- 
ing tensely  watching  something  above  her  in  the  air. 

MONICA 

There! 

CECILE,  turning 
What? 

MONICA,  pointing 
Getting  rainbows  from  the  fountain 

For  burnishing  its  wings.     There! 

She  points  away. 
iiS 


ACT  III]        ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  119 

CECILE 

Monica, 
You  are  too  old  to  chase  a  butterfly. 

MONICA 

This  is  more  like  a  waterfall  or  voice 
Having  wings.     If  we'd  get  near  enough 
It  might  have  word  for  Lady  Heloise. 

CECILE,  rising  and  coming  forward  quickly 
Oh,  might  it?    Then  we'll  woo  it  closer.     Look! 

MONICA 

There! 

CECILE 

It  goes  up! 

MONICA 

High!  Higher!    To  the  window! 

She  points  to  a  window  on  the  side  wall. 
I'll  go. 

She  goes  up  the  outside  stair. 

CECILE 

You'll  meet  there.     It's  on  the  sill. 

MONICA,  reaching  the  top 
Where  is  it  now,  Cecile? 

CECILE 

It  goes!     Beyond  the  wall. 


I20  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE        [act  iii 

MONICA,  sadly 


Out  to  the  WO] 

rid. 

CECILE 

Oh,  it  will  come  again. 

Shaking  Teresa, 

who  sleepily 

looks 

up. 

We'll  have  Teresa  sit  up  there  and  watch 

She  likes  to  be 

)  so  still. 

She  points 

to  the  upper 

window. 

Teresa, 

please. 

TEKF.SA 

Is  the  sun  warmer? 

MONICA 

Yes. 

Teresa  slowly  rises^  goes  up  the  stair  rubbing  her  eyes  and 
sits  at  the  window  after  Monica  desceiuis. 

MONICA,  to  Cecile 

How  many  beads 
Have  you  now  still  to  tell? 

CECILE,  counting 

Six — five. 

MONICA 

What  color? 

CECILE 

All  white. 


ACT  III]        ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  121 

MONICA 

When  Mother  Gabriella  comes 
She'll  bring  you  red  ones. 

CECrLE 

And  for  you — what  gift? 

MONICA 

My  flower  seeds. 

CECILE 

And  something  for  Teresa? 

MONICA 

A  comb  so  she  will  not  forget  her  hair. 

CECILE 

If  Mother  knew  that  Lady  Heloise 
Was  here,  she'd  bring  her 

MONICA 

That  for  which  she  waits. 

Slowly. 
I  wonder  what. 

CECELE 

She  thinks  the  hours  are  long. 

MONICA 

Poor  lady,  since  she  came  here  I  have  counted 
And  seen  three  separate  moons  come  in  the  fountain. 


122  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  iii 

CECILE 

I  love  her  dearly,  and  she's  like  the  candle 
I  put  before  St.  Stephen — never  goes  out, 
But  watches,  watches,  watches 

MONICA 

Hush,  she's  here. 

Enter  Heloise  slouiy  from  the  Abbey.     She  comes  wearily 
to  Monica  and  puts  her  arm  about  her. 

TERESA,  peering  languidly  from  her  seat  at  the  window 

above 
Sisters,  a  cloud  is  over  the  first  wood. 

Heloise  starts  and  looks  at  her  intensely. 

MONICA 

Oh,  some  one  comes! 

HELOISE 

Who,  Sister,  can  you  see? 

TERESA 

Not  yet. 

MONICA 

Who  will  it  be? 

CECILE 

The  bishop,  surely. 

TERESA 

How  fast  it  comes. 


ACT  III]        ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  123 

CECILS 

Oh,  never  a  priest  then! 

TERESA 

It  is  a  little  cloud. 

HELOISE,  to  herself 

Ah,  sightless  guessers. 

CECILE 

Tell  Sister  Monica  how  the  cloud  is  shaped. 
Sometimes  she  tells  from  that.     She  had  the  dream. 

TERESA,  dully 

Why,  just  a  cloud. 

CECILE 

Wait,  I'll  go  see  and  tell. 
She  runs  up  the  stairs  and  looks  eagerly  ajar  from  the 
top. 

MONICA,  looking  at  her 

What  is  the  cloud  like.  Sister? 

CECILE 

Like  a  bee 
Questing  along  the  tree-tops  as  for  food, 
And  being  torn  by  every  honied  chalice; 
What  would  that  mean? 

MONICA,  closing  her  eyes 

Something  of  sorrow's  there, 
But  only  of  the  summer. 


124  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  m 

CECILE 

Now  it  changes — 
Larger — and  makes  a  dove — and  dove-colored, 

But  ah — poor  dove 

Her  face  saddens. 

forget  how  high  the  sky 
Once  was 

HELOISE,  staring  before  her 
Forget? 

CECILE 

It  has  a  broken  wing. 
Tell,  Sister,  what  is  that? 

MONICA 

It  means  more  woe 
And  more  lasts  all  the  year — 'twill  never  heal. 
What  is  it  now? 

CECILE 

Oh,  it  grows  giant  now. 
The  dove's  an  eagle! 

HELOISE 

Soaring? 

CECILE 

No,  droops  low. 
For — see — oh,  it  is  limnM  with  a  chain, 
A  chain  of  steel ;  the  eagle  is  of  air, 


ACT  III]       ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  125 

The  sun's  upon  it,  and  it  first  will  melt 
Before  the  chain  will  fade. 

Looking  down  to  Monica. 
What  would  that  be? 

MONICA,  bewildered 
I  never  saw  an  eagle. 

TERESA,  scornfully 
It  was  only 
A  changing  cloud  of  dust. 

HELOISE 

Now,  now,  what  now? 

CECILE 

Now  it  has  entered  on  the  Abbey  wood, 
And  now  emerges — now — I  see 

HELOISE 

His  face! 

CECILE,  not  hearing  her^  hut  joyfully 
'Tis  Mother  Gabriella  riding  swiftly 

HELOISE,  jalteringly 
Alone? 

CECILE 

Alone. 

HELOISE 

There  is  no  word  "alone!" 


126  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE         [act  hi 

MONICA 

What  do  you  say,  Lady? 

HELOISE,  turning  away 

Nothing  now. 

CECILE,  joyfully  running  down  the  stairs  and  to  the  garden 
gate  followed  slowly  by  Teresa 

She*s  here! 

MONICA 

O  Blessed! 
The  gate  is  flung  open  and  enter  the  Abbess ^  Gabriellay  in 
travelling  costume. 

HELOISE 

Mother! 

GABRIELLA,  embracing  her 
Heloise ! 

HELOISE 

Mother,  what  news  have  you? 

GABRIELLA,  turning  from  her  to  a  servant ^  from  whom  she 

takes  several  packages  and  begins  distributing  them 

to  the  three  young  nuns 

Monica,  take  these. 

MONICA 

My  seeds! 

GABRIELLA,  giving  package 
Teresa. 


ACT  III]        ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  127 

TERESA 

The  comb! 

GABRIELLA 

And  here,  Cecile, 
Your  beads. 

CECILS 

Oh,  thank  you! 

MONICA 

Thank  you. 
They  crowd  about  Gabriellaj  embracing  her. 

HELOISE,  gazing  at  Gabriella 

Mother,  have  you  news? 

GABRIELLA,  pretending  to  be  wholly  occupied  by  the  nuns 
What  worldly  daughters  these;  now  off  with  you. 
Go  do  some  penance  for  these  gauds.     Cecile, 
Go  use  your  beads,  make  them  look  worn  and  wor- 
shipful. 
Monica,  plant  your  seeds,  the  season's  old. 
Soon  will  sad  autumn  coax  the  rose  away. 
Then  it's  too  late.     Teresa,  take  your  comb 
And  comb  your  hair.     Oh,  what  Medusa  tendrils! 
I  cannot  tell  them  from  the  vines  behind  you. 

Off,  off,  all  of  you! 

Exeunt  nuns. 


128  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iii 

HELOISE,  piteously 
All  is  well? 

GABRIELLA,  pretending  absent-mindedness 

Well ? 

She  turns  to  Heloise  briskly. 
Come,  Heloise,  and  let  me  look  at  you. 
O  weary  face.  Sleep's  been  a  stranger  here. 
Come,  sleep. 

She  piiHs  Heloise  toward  the  Abbey. 

I,  too,  am  tired — here's  the  old  nest. 
She  draws  Heloise' s  head  upon  her  bosom. 

HELOISE,  drawing  away 
Mother,  did  any  one  send  news  to  me? 

GABRIELLA 

By  me?    No  one. 

HELOISE 

Did  you  hear  any  one 
Say  anything  that  I  might  long  to  hear? 

GABRIELLA,  sadly 

None. 

HELOISE,  ajter  a  pause 

Did  you  see  my  uncle  there  in  Paris? 

GABRIELLA,  shuddering 
Come  and  pour  sleep  upon  those  thirsty  eyes. 
Your  body's  like  a  lamp,  let  the  flame  sleep. 
Or  it  will  char  you. 


ACT  III]       ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  129 

HELOISE 

Oh,  your  words  evade  me. 
She  searches  Gahriella^s  jace^  hut  the  Abbess  remains  silent. 
Then  let  me  speak  to  you. 

GABRTELLA,  seating  herself  on  the  sundial  and  pulling  He- 
loise  down  beside  her 

Speak  all  your  heart. 

HELOISE,  ajter  a  pause 
When  you  were  three  days  gone  from  here  I  came — 
To  wait.     Since  then  three  months  of  motionless 

hours 
Have  hung  here  and  died  upward  Hke  a  smoke. 
Where  is  your  hand?    I  wait  him  whom  the  world 
Knows  only  night  without.     But  first  to  tell  you ; 
You  know  of  whom  I  tell? 

GABRIELLA,  looking  away 

I  know  of  him. 

HELOISE 

Where's  the  beginning?    Oh,  it  had  none  first. 

He  was  made  tutor  to  me,  he,  the  life 

And  pillar  of  flame  to  lead  the  darkling  world, 

Came  to  sit  by  me  in  a  httle  chamber. 

And  more  than  he  came  with  him.     It  was  soon. 

It  came.     I  would  have  stayed  it,  bade  it  come 

At  least  more  slowly,  softer,  but  there  was 

No  gradual  arising  of  the  mind: 


130  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  m 

'Twas  instant  storm,  as  if  the  once  white  sky 
Bloomed  to  a  cloud  that  rained  the  flood  of  dreams, 
And  unto  him  all  flowed  as  to  the  sea. 
It  was  too  much.     I  would  not  have  it  less 
But  for  his  sake.    We  could  not  keep  it  back. 
All  Paris  rang.     You  heard? 

GABRIELLA,  in  a  low  voice 

Yes,  I  have  heard. 

HELOISE 

Then  you  know  later  the  windings  of  that  path; 
What  I  denied,  what  he  desired  of  me. 
Never,  never  would  it  have  been  best 
For  him.    There  was  no  other  path  for  me, 
Else  I'd  have  found  it  out. 

GABRIELLA 

The  path's  not  ended — 
But  here's  the  end. 
She  points  to  the  Abbey  and  clasps  Heloise  to  her  breast, 

HELOISE,  nurving  away 
Mother! 

GABRIELLA 

These  walls  will  stand 
Not  always.    And  yet  long  enough  to  hold  you 
Safely  until  the  iron  but  tenderest  key 
Turns  softly  in  the  locked  wards  of  your  life, 
To  give  the  lovingest  of  all  releases. 


ACT  III]        ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  131 

HELOISE,  rising 
Ah,  stones  to  eat. 

GABRIELLA 

It  is  indeed  a  stone, 
But  firm,  unfailing  and  all  mossy  soft. 
Rest,  rest  upon  it.    Let  the  world  be  closed 
As  a  wild,  dreadful  book  with  tossing  pages. 
Wherein  the  letters  tremble  as  a  flame 
About  tempestuous  pictures  limned  in  tears, 
Not  to  be  finished  lest  the  story  grow 
To  be  one's  own. 

HELOISE 

He  reads  it.    I  will  read. 

GABRIELLA 

The  page  is  written  and  read,  you  cannot  blot  it. 
Ah,  stay  with  me — we — have  our  memories. 

She  rises  and  moves  away. 

HELOISE,  looking  ajter  her  wonderingly 
You? 

GABRIELLA 

I — yes,  I  will  share  them  with  you. 


HELOISE,  nstng 

GABRIELLA,  returning  to  Heloise 
God  has  not  always  had  me  for  a  bride. 
O  Heloise,  this  is  quite  wrung  from  me. 


Mother! 


132  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iii 

For  it  was  buried  deeper  than  it  seemed 
As  in  a  well  from  which  your  thirst  has  drawn 
All  my  cool  covering  and  disclosed  at  last 
Deep  on  the  bottom — me — remembering, 
Whom  men  once  called  Rohais  de  Mont-Quarrcl. 
The  name  seems  rusty  now. 

HELOISE,  wonderingly 

But  she — ah,  she — 
Yes,  I  have  heard  the  story,  loved 

GABRIELLA 

The  King. 

HELOISE 

Oh,  piteous! 

GABRIELLA 

Ah,  no,  gladness,  for  he  loved  me- 
But  nations  also  have  their  marriages, 
And  when  they  wed,  some  offering  must  be  made. 
What  are  two  lives?    Yet  two  hves  are  enough. 
They  took  him  from  me,  but  they  cannot  take 
Something  of  majesty  he  left  with  me. 

HELOISE 

Now  let  me  touch  you  and  give  back  your  pity 
Who  have  been  but  a  mirror  to  your  sorrow. 

She  now  holds  Gabriello  upon  her  own  breast. 
And  you  have  offered  tender  cups  to  me. 
Who  should  have  strewn  upon  you  buds  of  comfort. 


ACT  m]        ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  133 

GABRIELLA 

The  roots  of  comfort  now  no  longer  reach 
So  deep  as  where  I  lie;  my  blessedness 
Now  is  that  I  have  lost  the  need  of  them. 
Only  to  keep  the  quiet  that  I  have 
Is  all  my  prayer.     And  still  one  cup  I  offer; 
Drink  and  descend  with  me  and  be  at  rest. 

HELOISE 

'Tis  only  mine  to  take  what  he  shall  give. 

GABRIELLA 

I  would  not  urge,  had  I  not  to  my  lips 
Put  the  same  bitterness. 

HELOISE 

Was  it  the  same? 

GABRIELLA 

I  left  my  life. 

HELOISE 

Did  they  not  take  him  from  you? 

GABRIELLA,  SoMy 

I  cannot  reason  with  you. 

HELOISE 

O  my  Sweet, 
Have  I  not  known  already  the  same  grief? 
The  heart  of  yours,  for  it  was  true  already 
When  I  my  beauteous  marriage  veil  dechned, 
That  I,  for  my  love's  sake,  denied  my  love. 


134  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  hi 

But  his  love  I  will  not  deny,  his  only 

I  will  keep  safe  and  battle  with  the  world 

To  keep  it. 

GABRIELLA 

Here  is  safety  for  that  love. 

HELOISE 

It  dwells  where  he  is,  and  he  is  not  here. 
Where  I  am  will  be  only  found — a  flame. 

GABRIELLA 

Flames  must  leave  ashes  when  they  die  away. 

HELOISE 

The  flame  I  am  will  never  be  made  cool. 

GABRIELLA,  watching  her  pityingly 
But  he ? 

HELOISE 

He  could  not.     His  exhaustless  soul 
Bums  with  no  earthy,  perishable  fire, 
But  always — as  a  star. 

GABRIELLA 

Yet  stars  grow  pale 
And  hurl  their  cinders  on  the  breast  of  earth, 
Dealing  out  death  to  that  which  welcomes  them. 


ACT  III]        ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  135 

HELOISE 

Then  on  that  saddest  and  most  pitiful  night 
When  this  should  happen,  if  it  could  indeed, 
I  would  arise,  having  enough  for  both, 
And  gather  those  charred  pieces  all  to  me, 
And  from  this  bosom  Ught  them  all  anew. 
And  send  them  flaming  out  against  the  sky. 

GABRIELLA 

Is  there  no  doom  seems  even  possible? 

Are  you  so  blind  with  him,  deafened  with  life, 

That  you  can  have  no  dream  of  shadow's  wreck. 

Nor  hear  before  the  tempest  falls  the  cry 

Of  warning  from  the  lurking,  misty  rocks? 

HELOISE 

My  faith's  the  sky  above  me  and  'tis  day. 
When  the  night  falls  I'll  have  my  star  again. 

GABRIELLA 

But  if  the  star  vanished,  pointing  to  this  place? 

HELOISE 

It  would  not  be  where  he  should  point  that  I 
Should  note,  but  where  he  faded  from  my  vision. 
Then  I,  too,  would  no  more  again  be  seen. 
Being  gone  to  follow  after  and  to  find  him. 


136  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  m 

GABRTELLA 

Yet  the  wise  sailor  in  an  ominous  calm 
Furls  his  glad  sails,  remembers  other  storms 
And  fortifies  his  ship  with  preparation. 

HELOISE 

And  I,  too,  do  remember  other  storms. 
They  have  all  fallen,  the  sky  is  rid  of  them. 
None  can  descend,  for  none  remain  above. 

GABRTELLA 

Oh,  it  is  better  to  be  warned  before 

Than  to  be  solaced  after 

She  looks  long  at  Heloise,  her  eyes  jull  of  the  message  that 
she  cannot  speak, 

HELOISE 

Has  this  meaning? 

GABRIELLA 

Heloise,  upon  the  road  from  Paris 
I  met  with  Malart. 

HELOISE 

Alone? 

GABRIELLA 

Alone. 

HELOISE 

Oh,  speak, 
You  did  not  tell  me.     What  have  you  kept  back  ? 
For  he  is  doom's  foreboder  and  tempest  petrel, 
Shrieking  forever  on  the  front  of  storm 


ACT  III]        ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  137 

GABRIELLA 

Come,  come  within  this  harbor  here  forever, 

Before  another  and  more  dreadful  wind 

Lifts  from  the  deep's  grim  face  to  drag  you  down. 

HELOISE 

Though  danger  thunder  on  danger  from  the  abyss, 
I'll  keep  my  eyes  set  seaward  to  my  haven 
And  that  great  anchorage  which  he  holds  for  me. 

GABRIELLA 

Then  make  your  eyes  of  stone,  for  you  must  face 
A  dreadful  sunset.     I  can  plead  no  further. 

She  rises  and  moves  away. 
There  are  no  words. 

HELOISE,  following  her 

Ah,  mother,  now  forgive  me, 
I  have  been  selfish,  careless,  flinty,  cruel. 
But  oh,  your  sorrow  is  my  sorrow  also 
And  in  my  heart  my  arms  are  close  about  you 
To  fold  you  in  a  tenderer,  nearer  way. 
We  must  be  tenderer  to  each  other  now. 

GABRIELLA 

Remember  that  whatever  grief  assails  you, 
Here  on  this  island  of  the  terrible  world 
I  wait  to  welcome  you  to  quietness. 
And  now,  at  least,  come  in  and  sleep  a  while. 


138  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  m 

HELOISE 

I  could  not  sleep,  my  Sweet,  I'll  wander  here. 
Maybe  my  sleep  will  overtake  me  here. 

GABRIELLA 

You  must  not  be  alone,  even  with  Sleep; 

I'll  send  you  sweet  companions,  I'll  go  summon 

Going. 
My  happiest  loves. 

Exity  calling, 

Teresa,  Monica, 
Cecile 

HELOISE,  alone 

Malart!    Omen  of  what  new  sorrow? 

Portent  most  dreadful  of  what  dreadful  grief? 

And  she — ah,  her  own  sorrow  buried  deep — 

Oh,  what's  this  world  that  holds  me  mirrors  up 

In  every  face  and  aspect  that  I  see. 

And  my  own  face  a  mirror  that  reflects  them 

Image  within  image;  and  within — within — 

In  infinite  vista,  sorrow  multiplied 

Each  the  deep  semblance  of  my  griefs  own  face. 

Enter  jrom  the  Abbey  and  approaching  Heloise  jrom  behind^ 
the  three  young  nuns. 

CECILE,  shyly  to  Heloise 
Please  can  we  not  put  sadness  off  to-day? 

HELOISE,  turning  and  seeing  the  nuns 
What  shall  we  do  to  make  us  gay? 


ACT  III]        ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  139 

CECILE 

I  know, 
Tell  fortunes. 

HELOISE 

Good.     Come,  Monica,  and  join  us. 

Monica  has  been  standing  back  of  the  others,  looking  at 
Heloise. 

CECILE 

Sister  Monica  has  a  flower  for  you. 

Monica  comes  forward  and  gives  Heloise  a  flower, 

HELOISE 

Ah,  that's  the  thing,  I'll  tell  your  fortunes  so 
Each  is  a  flower. 

CECILE 

Then  what  is  Monica? 

HELOISE 

Do  we  not  know  our  shyest  sister  here 

Full  of  deep  dreams  and  many  hidden  hours? 

CECILE 

I'll  never  guess  her. 

TERESA 

Tell  us. 

HELOISE 

She  is  gentian. 


I40  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  m 

CECELE  and  teresa 
Yes,  yes. 

HELOISE 

— And  our  best  dreamer;  see,  those  bluets 
That  she  is  wearing  in  her  fringed  eyes, 
Are  gathered  from  a  sky  that  knows  all  secrets. 
She  reads  our  hearts  as  in  a  brimming  glass. 
Monica  has  been  looking  steadily  into  Heloise's  eyes. 

CECILE 

Read,  Monica,  oh,  read  Lady  Heloise 

Monica  turns  suddenly  away, 

CECILE 


Tell  what  you  saw 


TERESA,  looking  at  Monica 

She  has  tears  in  her  eyes. 

HELOISE,  taking  lip  another  flower 

And  here  is  Heal-AU  that  was  once  the  nun 

Brunella,  she  who  prayed  to  be  a  flower 

That  she  might  with  a  wiser  alchemy 

Take  sweetness  from  the  earth  and  dew  and  air 

To  work  her  cures.     Then  come,  Cecile,  and  wear  it, 

For  this  is  you. 

Giving  the  flower  to  Cecile. 

CECILE,  looking  at  her 

Please  take  it  back  again 
And  make  it  comfort  you  when  you  are  sad. 


ACT  III]       ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  141 

TERESA 

Tell  me  what  I  am. 

HELOISE 

Yes,  let's  tell  Teresa. 
What  flower  grows  wild,  gives  bread,  gets  dust  upon 

it? 
What  flower  is  softest  and  yet  has  no  dreams? 
That  has  wide  eyes,  yet  never  a  mood  in  them? 
What  flower  is  most  content  of  all? 

MONICA 

That's  mallow. 

HELOISE 

Sister  Teresa  is  the  mallow  flower, 

And  she's  the  one  of  us  who  is  most  sure 

Of  happiness. 

TERESA 

I  never  wanted  it; 
I  like  to  sit  all  quiet  in  the  sun. 

CECILE 

Tell,  what  would  Mother  Gabriella  be? 

HELOISE 

A  russet  seeming  with  a  heart  all  red, 
A  scarlet  beacon  that  makes  autumn  kinder, 
Summer's  best  promise  to  the  winter  gray 
That  spring  will  come  again — guess. 


142  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  in 

MONICA 

Bitter  sweet! 

CECILE 

That*s  a  good  telling.    And  now  tell  us  yours. 

HELOISE 

My  own?    Now  here  comes  blindness  back  again 
And  all  is  hid 

CECILE 

Let  Sister  Monica, 
She  peers  within  and  sees,  as  you  have  said. 

HELOISE,  to  Monica 
If  you  see  any  portent  in  the  world 
For  me,  sweet  oracle,  be  kind,  reveal  it. 

MONICA,  looking  at  her 
No,  you  have  many  thoughts;  please  tell  us  some. 

HELOISE,  turning  away  and  then  coming  to  them  again 
I've  only  flowers  for  you,  they're  happier. 
No  visions,  they're  of  air,  take  flowers  instead. 

She  plucks  a  handful  of  flowers  and  shows  them. 

Here  is  Herb  Robert, — Robin  of  the  Wood 
That  sheds  a  rosebeam  from  a  tower  of  gray — 
He's  the  best  comrade  for  a  lonely  heart. 
And  yellow  star-grass  that  swims  in  a  field 
When  autumn  steals  the  summer's  gold  away. 


ACT  III]       ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  143 

And  Cyclamen  that  tries  to  go  from  earth 
And  wins  its  colored  feathers  from  the  sky 
To  make  new  wings  with;  and  here's  Jewel  Weed 
That  keeps  one  morning's  dew  through  all  its  life. 
And  last  of  all  here  is  Dream  Jasmine  for  you. 

She  gives  it  to  Monica, 

MONICA 

Oh,  thank  you,  does  it  make  a  dream  come  true? 

HELOISE 

No  flower  does  that.    This  gives  a  better  dream. 

CECILE 

You  know  the  flowers'  names,  come  tell  them  all. 

What's  this? 

Holding  up  a  flower. 

HELOISE,  seating  herself  on  the  sundial  with  the  nuns 
Ah,  now,  beware,  that's  St.  John's  Wort, 
The  fairy  doorway,  on  midsummer  night 
After  all's  done,  the  mighty  labors  ended; 
Counting  CeciHa's  prayers  for  a  whole  year. 
Planting  soft  dreams  for  Monica  to  gather. 
And  with  the  points  of  moonbeams  making  combs 
To  lure  this  hair  to  be  straight  gold  again. 

Touching  Teresa^ s  hair. 
Suddenly,  swiftly,  on  the  tick  of  dawn 
The  sleeping  bee  booms  his  faint  goblin  drum 
Once,  and  the  fairies  are  upon  their  way. 


144  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  in 

They  do  not  go  on  some  glad  upward  path 

But  enter  downward  here. 

Showing  flower. 

And  as  they  go, 

With  hair-fine  swords  and  bee-sting  javelins  drawn, 

They  thrust  and  cut  and  hew  toward  this  warm 

world. 

Striking  the  outward  and  sweet-seasoned  air 

And  so  make  sad  retreat  and  disappear. 

See,  the  poor  petals  are  all  hacked  and  stabbed. 

By  accident  the  fairy  weapons  did  it. 

CECILE 

What  do  they  fear  outside? 

r      HELOISE 

I  cannot  tell. 
The  fairy's  dead  that  knew. 

TERESA 

They  must  have  all 
Known  once,  and  afterward  forgotten  it. 

MONICA 

And  what  is  this  upon  the  fountain's  edge? 

Showing  flower. 
HELOISE 

Sea  Lavender!    But  we'll  not  have  that  tale. 

MONICA 

But  why? 


ACTin]       ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  145 

HELOISE 

Too  sad. 

CECILE 

Oh,  tell  it.    Tell  such  tales. 

HELOISE,  taking  the  flower 
This  was  the  Lady  Rosemarine  that  loved 

CECILE 

But  that's  not  sad. 

HELOISE 

He  whom  she  loved  went  out 
Upon  a  sad  sea  journey  from  her  side. 
And  if  on  any  beach  he  ever  landed, 
'Twas  not  that  weary  margin  where  she  stood 
Waiting. 

MONICA 

And  did  he  never  then  return? 

HELOISE 

He  has  not  yet.    And  there  upon  the  rocks 
With  all  the  weary  hours  about  her  head, 
The  heavy  tides  asway  about  her  feet, 
But  with  her  eyes  forever  where  the  sky 
Locks  fast  upon  the  sea,  she  clung  and  held 
Until  at  last  she  still  was  there  for  him. 
But  was  a  flower.    You  always  find  it  low, 
Touching  the  wave  at  the  most  seaward  places. 
Some  one  has  gathered  it  and  brought  it  here. 


146  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  hi 

MONICA 

Ah,  Rosemarine.    And  still  there  is  the  ghost 
Of  red  and  white  about  her.     Poor  sad  lady! 

CECILE 

Why  did  he  not  return  ? 

HELOISE 

Oh,  he  will  come. 
He  stays  to  bring  more  shining  argosies 
Laden  with  glories  for  her  to  put  on. 
Or  else  he  seeks  new  jewels  for  her  brow. 

CECILE 

But  that  would  only  make  it  heavier, 
And  she's  aweary  in  a  tattered  gown. 

TERESA 

You  said  awhile  ago  that  weM  be  gay. 
But  now  we  are  not. 

HELOISE,  rising 

No,  what  shall  we  do? 

TERESA 

Did  you  play  games  here  at  the  Abbey  once? 

HELOISE 

Why,  yes,  and  I  remember  all  of  them. 
Let's  have  one. 


ACT  III]       ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  147 

TERESA  AND  CECILE 

Yes,  yes. 

HELOISE 

And  what  shall  it  be? 
The  Fountain  Song,  do  you  still  have  it  here? 

CECILE 

Yes. 

HELOISE 

And  The  Dial  Sister} 

TERESA 

Yes. 

HELOISE 

What  others? 

MONICA 

Did  you  play  Marys  Garden} 

HELOISE 

I  remember. 

CECILE 

Then  that's  the  one.     Come,  let  us  play  it  now. 
Get  flowers. 

They  all  gather  handjuls  of  flowers, 

HELOISE 

Now  who'll  begin? 


148  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iii 

MONICA 

Teresa,  you. 
They  join  hands  and  dance  in  a  circle^  about  the  sundial. 

TERESA,  singing 
Let  us  weave  a  garden  for  our  Mother  Mary 

CECtLE 

Where  no  heart  shall  harden  and  no  wind  shall  vary. 

MONICA 

Then  must  every  flower  that  ever  grew  be  in  it 

HELOISE 

Life's  elusive  hour.  Love's  immortal  minute. 

They  change  and  dance  about  the  fountain. 

MONICA,  singing 
Every  tender  daughter  brings  a  gift  to  sow. 

HELOISE 

Love  shall  be  the  water  that  shall  make  it  grow. 

She  dances  jorward,  takes  water  in  her  handy  throws  it , 
upward  and  the  dance  again  changes  to  the  dial. 

TERESA,  singing 
Of  all  the  hues  that  grow  in  me  I  bring  her  of  my 

best. 

Throwing  daisies  on  the  dial. 


ACT  III]        ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  149 

CECILE 

These  lilies  from  the  snow  in  me  and  mosses  from 
my  rest. 

Throwing  lilies  and  moss  on  the  dial.     They  change  again 
to  the  fountain, 

MONICA 

And  cresses  from  the  wave  I  am  for  fountains  of 

her  own. 

Throwing  cresses  in  the  fountain. 

HELOISE 

If  roses  she  will  crave  I  am  the  rose  that  would  be 
sown. 

Throwing  a  rose  in  the  fountain.     A  hell  sounds  from  the 
Abbey;  they  pause. 

CECILE 

There  is  our  lady  calling,  we  must  go; 
So  end  it. 

HELOISE 

( 

Let  me  see — what  is  the  end? 

MONICA 

Not  a  sprig  of  rue 

HELOISE 

Ah  yes,  I  know 

Singing. 

Not  a  sprig  of  rue, 

They  dance  again. 


I50  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  iii 

MONICA 

But  to  make  it  true,  fernseed  from  the  fairies. 
ALL,  with  a  wild  whirl y  throwing  flowers  everywhere 

And  the  Garden's  Mary's! 

They  stopy  out  of  breath  and  radiant. 

TERESA,  to  Heloisej  going 
That  was  the  best  of  all  we  ever  danced 


CECILE,  to  Heloise 
— And  happiest.     Let's  dance  it  all  again 
When  we  return.     Farewell. 

MONICA,  to  Heloise 

Farewell. 


Exit, 


Exit. 


Exit. 


HELOISE,  to  them 

Farewell. 

She  turns  from  the  departing  girls y  her  cheeks  glowing  and 
her  whole  body  filled  with  the  ecstasy  of  the  dance. 

Oh,  my  girlhood,  was  I  glad  again? 

She  takes  a  step,  bringing  her  to  the  sundial.  Sttddenly 
her  eyes  light  upon  ity  her  face  grows  radianty  and  with  a 
superb  gesture  she  rises  to  her  utmost  height  and 
stretches  both  hands  above  her  to  the  sky. 

Noon!    And  at  last  no  shadow!    Infinite  noon! 
The  over  and  under  vault  is  all  one  flame 
To  Hght  him  now  and  he  shall  find  his  way. 


ACT  III]        ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  151 

Fire  all  above  me  and  beneath  me  fire, 

Echoing  that  with  which  I  burn  forever. 

The  three  immensities  are  all  one  path, 

He  could  not  lose  the  way  nor  dark  defeat  him. 

Surely  the  torch  I  am  would  be  a  beacon 

Over  the  world  to  him  if  darkness  fell. 

O  sky,  be  tender  to  him,  earth  be  safe. 

O  visible  nature  and  invisible, 

Be  my  two  arms  for  him  while  these  are  empty! 

Earth  be  my  breast;  sky  be  my  heart  to  him. 

And  men  and  women,  be — to — him 

Enter  through  the  gate  behind  her  Malart.     She  falters  and 
looks  down  upon  the  dial.     Malart^ s  shadow  is  upon  it. 

Again? 
Here  is  the  shadow  back: 

She  stares  at  the  dial. 

A  raven's  wing 

What  will  the  croaking  bode  this  time? 

She  slowly  turns  ^  sees  him^  and  speaks  in  a  dull  voice. 

What's  wrong? 

Then  starting  up  wildly  to  him. 

Where  is  he?    You  have  news  of  him?    He's  well? 
Never  breathe  again  till  you  have  told  me. 

MALART 

Yes. 

HELOISE 

Where? 


152  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  m 


MALART 

In  Paris. 

HELOISE 

Safe? 

MALART 

Safe. 

HELOISE 

He  sent  you? 

MALART 


I  come  from  him. 

HELOISE 

Then  you  bear  news  from  him. 

Why  does  he  stay?    What  held  him?    Sound  your 

note. 

What's  wrong?     Have  I  displeased  him?    What's 

the  matter? 

He  stands  silently  looking  at  her, 

I  find  you  here — always  I  seem  to  find  you. 
There  is  something  Godlike  in  such  omnipresence. 

MALART 

Blasphemer. 

HELOISE 

Oh,  the  name  answers  me  not! 
What  does  he  wish  of  me? 


ACT  III]       ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  153 

MALART 

There's  the  wise  question; 
I  bring  his  wishes. 

HELOISE 

Then  you're  welcomer 
Than  you  have  ever  been  to  me  before. 
Tell  me  his  wish. 

MALART 

YouVe  granted  half  already 
In  coming  here,  comphant  to  his  wish. 
Only  continue. 

HELOISE 

How  much  longer? 

MALART,  fixedly 

Always. 

HELOISE,  starting  and  then  looking  at  him  with  an  effort 
to  smile 

You'll  never  be  a  jester,  so  desist; 

You  toll  a  passing  bell  and  they're  not  worn 

On  motley. 

MALART 

No,  I  ring  another  bell 
To  wed  you  now  forever  safe  to  heaven. 

HELOISE 

At  last  your  threatening  madness  overtakes  you; 
But  why  should  all  your  ravings  be  of  me? 


154  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  m 

MALART 

No  madness  but  his  will  arisen  at  last 
Welded  and  knitted  with  the  will  of  God. 

HELOISE 

There  is  a  name  that  I  have  heard  before, 
Ringing  like  lost  hope  from  your  iron  lips 
And  always  clanged  a  doom;  but  now  at  last, 
In  your  mad  aspiration  toward  Despair 
You  swing  too  far — the  sound  grows  meaningless. 

MALART 

If  that's  no  warning  then  I'll  take  the  trumpet 
And  blare  you  up  from  the  world's  grave  to  hfe. 

Listen. 

He  produces  a  letter  and  read's. 

Heloise — hoard  up  your  remaining  respite  from  pain. 
Rescue  it  from  the  horrible  clutches  of  this  festering  world. 
Conceal  it.  Evil  surrounds  all.  Fly  from  it.  Enter  the 
safe  and  hiding  shadow  of  the  Church,  Take  the  veil. 
Farewell.     Forget  the  past. 

HELOISE,  in  a  monotone 
Who  wrote  it? 

MALART,  meaningly 
Was  it  I? 

HELOISE 

Letters  of  fire 
Would  not  make  me  believe — 


ACT  iiij        ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  155 

MALART,  continuing  to  read 

Remember  Ahelard. 
HELOISE 

The  signature! 

She  dashes  toward  him  and  snatches  the  letter.  Her  gaze 
jails  on  the  unmistakable  signature.  She  mutters  to  her- 
selff  staring  at  the  paper. 

Something's  confused — only  a  Httle  ink — 

I'll  pray  it  clean  again — well,  never  mind 

She  suddenly  taps  her  forehead  with  her  hand. 

What's   this,   what's   this?    Your   madness   seems 

contagious. 

She  turns. 

O  God,  I'll  go  and  think!    I'll  have  to  think. 
There's  a  way  out.    I'll  think  it  clear  for  him. 

She  totters  through  the  doorway  into  the  abbey.  Malart 
looks  after  her  with  satisfaction  and  then  begins  strolling 
about  the  garden.  As  he  nears  the  gate  which  he  has 
left  opeUy  Abelard  enters  wildly.  He  is  pale^  haggard, 
and  distraught  almost  to  madness.  He  wears  the  gown 
of  a  monk. 

MALART,  staggering  back  with  infinite  amazement 
You!— Followed! 

ABELARD 

As  the  rain  from  hideous  airs 
For  rest  in  the  wide  sea,  so  I  to  her. 


156  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  m 

MALART,    slowly 

To  her? 

ABELARD 

Is  she  not  here? 

MALART,  wonderingly 

She?     Now? 


ABELARD 
MALART 


Now. 


Thou  madman! 


ABELARD 

Never  thwart  me.     She  shall  soothe  me. 

MALART 

Despair  has  made  you  drunken. 

ABELARD 

So?    Bay  on. 

Turning  jrom  him  wildly. 

The  whole  world  is  a  hound  to  harry  me, 

The  very  air's  a  fang,  and  all  men's  eyes 

Tear  at  me  as  I  hurry  by  their  eyes. 

Gall  is  my  food.     Ashes  are  in  my  mouth. 

I  drink  the  iron  tears  of  all  Despair 

And  am  all  poisoned. 

He  looks  toward  the  abbey. 

But  the  antidote — 
Is  cool  within  her  hands. 


ACT  III]        ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  157 

liALART,  conjronting  him 

Priest,  by  thy  vows 
Go  back! 

ABELARD 

Never ! 

MALART 

Thou  art  ordained  of  God. 
Thou  wearest  God's  cloak  upon  thee.     Sin  no  fur- 
ther. 

ABELARD 

I  swore  those  salt  and  acid  oaths  in  vain, 
No  medicine  they. 

MALART 

You  have  denied  your  God. 
Can  your  mad,  selfish  sin  thus  deny  Nature? 

ABELARD 

Nature  nor  God  has  given  my  spirit  balm. 
But  with  her  fingers  she  shall  twine  me  back 

He  continues  to  look  at  the  abbey. 

To  life,  and  with  her  voice  she  can  recall  me. 

MALART 

Fool,  even  now  she  broods  upon  thp  letter. 

ABELARD 

Her  eyes  will  battle  past  those  furious  words 
And  win  to  me  and  draw  to  me  and  save  me. 


158  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  m 

MALART,  ajter  a  pause 
When  you  were  made  a  priest  but  three  days  gone 
I  told  you  to  forget — 

He  looks  meaningly  at  Abelard. 
but  now — remember. 


ABELARD,  desperately 
I'll  bide  no  longer. 

Heloise! 


Calling. 


MALART,  trying  to  prevent  Abelard 
God's  wrath! 

ABELARD,  throvAng  off  his  monk's  gown 
Off  heavy  snare!    I  am  no  priest  to  her. 

He  conceals  the  gown  behind  a  bench.  Enter  Heloise, 
Abelard  rushes  to  meet  her  and  she  to  meet  him^  but  before 
they  can  reach  each  other  Malart  passes  inflexibly  be- 
tween with  his  jace  to  Abelard  and  looking  at  him, 
Abelard  hesitates,  halts y  and  then  almost  imperceptibly 
shrinks  back.  Malart  then  stands  rigidly  at  one  side 
looking  at  him.  Heloise  impulsively  takes  another  step 
toward  Abelard,  but  seeing  him  shrink,  she  stands  still. 

HELOISE 

All's  well  now,  home  is  here — 

She  stretches  out  her  arms. 

in  these  poor  arms, 
Aching  for  being  too  long  tenantless. 


ACT  III]        ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  159 

Abelard  continues  to  stand  motionless  and  silent.  She  then 
looks  jrom  him  to  Malart. 

Ah,  no — you  cannot;  we  will  wait. 

She  gazes  at  Malart  until  he  begins  to  retreat  slowly  and 
■finally  makes  his  exit  through  the  gate^  still  looking  steadily 
at  Abelard.     She  then  turns  back  to  Abelard. 

And  now — 

She  starts  again  toward  him  but  stops.  He  continues  to 
gaze  at  her  without  moving. 

Nothing's  between  us. 

She  again  stretches  out  her  arms.     He  does  not  move. 
She  looks  at  him  fearfully  and  then  suddenly  brightens. 

Oh,  forgive — I  see — 
Yes,  it  is  best  to  let  our  eyes  drink  first 
Lest  like  parched  travellers  rushing  to  the  well 
We  drown.     Oh,  I'll  be  silent. 

ABELARD,  Still  looking  at  her  from  his  place 

Speak,  speak! 

HELOISE 

Ah,  thank  you.     Now  I  see — and  it  is  better 
That  one  should  hold  the  cup,  the  other  sip 
And  so  each  guard  the  other's  too  great  joy. 
What  shall  I  talk  of?    Will  you  let  me  choose? 
There's  the  low  altar  where  my  baby  knees 
Grew  wearier  than  they  were  worshipful. 


i6o  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [Acrra 

A  cherub  and  a  seraph  once  lurked  there. 

I  do  not  see  them  now — they're  shyer  now. 

I  used  to  tiptoe  on  the  dial  there; 

And  watch  the  birds  all  climbing  the  steep  air; 

They  seemed  to  struggle  upward  on  a  quest. 

Ah,  wingless  though  I  am,  yet  I  have  found 

More  than  they  dared ;  and  of  the  dial  itself 

I  used  to  watch  the  others  come  and  read  it, 

And  thought  that  to  those  happy  souls  it  always 

Told  the  sky's  meaning.    Now  I  look  at  you 

She  smiles  at  him. 
And  all's  made  plain. 

ABELARD 

Oh,  poison,  poison. 

HELOISE,  wildly 

Abelard! 
She  starts  to  him, 

ABELARD 

No,  no,  speak  on.     Once  more  I'll  try  this  phantom. 

HELOISE,  retreating 
Yes,  yes,  I  must  not  pause;  I  see,  I  know 
I  must  be  patient — I'll  speak  on  and  on. 
Oh,  let  me  batter  at  this  wintry  wall. 
I'll  melt  a  way  to  you  with  my  two  lips. 
Flame  against  snow  shall  be  my  hands  for  you. 
If  snow  should  lie  between  us 


ACT  III]       ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  i6i 

ABELARD 

HeU's  broth! 
HELOISE,  madly 

Abelard ! 

ABELARD 

AU's  lost! 

HELOISE 

Are  you  not  here?    Then  all  is  saved. 

ABELARD 

Lost,  lost,  you  cannot  save  myself  from  me. 

HELOISE 

Your  face  is  glistening  pale  with  some  deep  sickness, 
Something  has  happened  terrible  to  your  brow. 
The  dying  summer  has  turned  and  bitten  you 
With  fever. 
She  takes  a  hesitating  step  toward  him.     He  retreats. 
Ah,  but  let  me  cool  your  brow. 

ABELARD 

Do  I  still  seem  then  only  to  be  sick 

Who  have  been  stung  into  no  quiet  death? 

Well,  then  I  must  be  only  sick,  a  sickness 

Bom  of  no  fever. 

To  himself. 
Fever  cannot  live 

In  the  December  runnels  of  these  veins. 

HELOISE 

Oh,  I  can  give  you  balm. 


i62  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  m 

ABELARD 

Then  tell  me  quickly. 
Here  stands  my  spirit,  heal  it  back  to  life. 

HELOISE,  throwing  wide  her  arms 

Home  to  these  arms,  here  is  the  life,  the  healing. 

She  waits.     He  only  looks  at  her.     She  looks  wonderingly 
away  and  sees  a  figure  at  a  shrine  in  the  cloister. 

Ah,  yes,  you  dread  the  staring  image  there. 
Sad  witness,  I  will  shut  the  canopy. 

She  lowers  a  curtain  before  the  shrine. 
ABELARD 

Oh,  can  you  shut  the  leaves  upon  the  trees, 
The  hdless  bubbles  on  the  fountain  there. 
The  opposing  stars  that  testify  against  me. 
The  winds  that  yell  upon  me  out  of  the  north. 
Or  the  south  winds  that  whisper  and  plot  around  me? 
That  cold  unwinking  dial  that  portions  off 
The  hateful,  snakelike  periods  of  time 
In  slow  and  venomous  lengths,  coil  after  coil 
Watches  me — watches  me.     Heal  my  vision  first; 
Give  me  to  look  again  on  the  same  world. 
Or  make  another. 

HELOISE,  yearningly 

Do  we  need  another? 


ACTin]       ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  163 

ABELARD 

O  pitiful  physician,  is  this  all? 

Drug  me  at  least  with  words  and  we  will  try 

How  many  deaths  behind  lies  my  sours  health. 

HELOISE 

These  are  the  dusty  windows  of  the  mind : 
Never  look  out  of  them,  or  else  cleanse  them.    See 
The  tide  of  tree-tops  ebbs  and  flows  above  us; 
Let  it  pour  down  its  beauty,  drink  it  all. 

ABELARD 

Gray,  twisted  limbs  against  the  weary  sky 
Fretted  to  shivering  leaves  on  the  cold  sky. 

HELOISE 

Oh,  but  the  fountain  never  will  look  strange. 
Take  all  its  gladness,  it  will  still  have  more. 

ABELARD 

What  deadly  symbols  do  you  show  me.    Look, 
See  how  the  tortured  water  in  the  air 
Tries  for  the  sun,  part  to  be  blown  away. 
Part  to  fall  back  benumbed,  all  to  be  shattered. 
And  all  its  aspiration  come  to  naught. 

HELOISE 

O  Love,  bring  back  your  eyes,  think  on  us  two. 
Think  how  the  morning  and  the  evening  are. 
How  they  are  lovely  when  we  look  together. 
Think  how  the  dawn  has  found  us  glad  of  Love, 
Think  how  the  noon  has  looked  upon  us  glad. 


i64  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  hi 

How  the  night's  pulse  has  grown  to  be  one  bird, 
Dripping  its  music  on  our  double  souls, 
Melting  them  to  one  song.     Why  the  whole  earth 
Is  like  a  banquet  spread  before  our  love, 
And  I  shall  wait  upon  you,  you  shall  see. 
Your  bread  shall  be  my  tender  services; 
I'll  win  the  golden  apples  of  the  west 
Out  of  my  mighty  wilhngness  for  you, 
Each  dawn  shall  be  a  silver  cup  for  you; 
Oh,  let  me  hold  it,  I  am  strong  enough. 

ABELARD 

So,  there's  no  help.     Empty  and  waste  and  void. 

You  only  offer  me  this  piteous  table. 

Do  you  not  see  what  mocking  feast  is  Life? 
j  Wherein  one  finds  the  goblets  like  as  sieves, 
;  Bitter,  black  wine.     And  floating  motes  for  food; 
\  How  one  sits  with  the  sneering  life  around  him 

Only  to  pass  unquenched  with  a  groan? 
:  How  he  who  deeply  supped  for  living — dies? 

And  he  who  hoped  for  death  in  his  cup — lives? 

He  moves  away. 

And  all  are  troubled  with  the  last  year's  flies? 

HELOISE 

These  wild  distortions  are  from  too  much  waking, 
The  eyes  will  often  so  revenge  themselves. 
Come,  sleep,  and  let  deep  peace  flow  over  you. 

She  stretches  out  her  hand  piteously. 


Acxm]       ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  165 

ABELARD,  starting 
Peace!    So  you  have  named  it!    Peace!    Peace! 
And  silence.     There's  the  cordial.     Shelter,  shelter. 
Fly  from  this  hurtling  world,  get  behind  walls! 
You  cannot  dodge  Life's  missiles.     Turn  away, 
Go  from  the  field,  I  cannot  see  you  crushed. 

HELOISE 

Your  words  are  strange.    I  will  not  understand  them. 

ABELARD 

Grief  is  not  plainer  than  my  meaning  was, 
Penned  in  the  letter. 

HELOISE,  slowly 

The  letter,  Abelard? 

ABELARD,  jrom  this  time  on  he  grows  gradually  calmer 
and  colder 
The  letter. 

HELOISE,  starting  desperately 
No,  I  will  not  understand 


Yes,  yes,  I  can — but  oh,  I  have  forgotten. 
And  you — oh,  I  can  teach  you  to  forget. 
I  know  the  impulse  of  its  sudden  writing; 
How  it  was  false.    Remember  only  truth. 
Truth  is  my  love. 

ABELARD,  unyieldingly 

Only  to  shield  and  save  you 
I  recommend  this  white  and  quiet  path. 


i66  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  m 

HELOISE 

You  are  distraught.     The  heated  arch  of  noon 
Has  bent  its  fiery  fillet  on  your  brow 
Searing  your  brain  to  utter  these  wild  words. 

ABELARD 

Madness  is  what  is  past;  this  present  light 
Is  the  clear  face  of  reason  reappearing. 

HELOISE 

Do  not  believe!    It's  reason's  fearful  mask. 
O  Love,  what  shall  I  do  to  tear  it  oflf? 


ABELARD 

Do  nothing  for  my  sake  but  for  your  own. 
Refledge  the  innocent  prayers  you-  once  sent  up 
In  this  still  place,  and  from  Confession's  censer 
The  muttering  incense  will  arise  around  you, 
And  always  in  its  mist  you  will  be  safe. 

HELOISE 

To  you  alone  I'll  pray,  to  you  confess. 

ABELARD 

Hell  would  be  fitter  than  I  am  to  hear. 

HELOISE 

At  least  point  out  the  barren,  narrow  paths 
That  make  the  dreadful  cell  attainable; 


ACT  III]        ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  167 

If  Safety  is  the  thorn  where  I  must  hang, 
I'll  name  the  things  I  must  be  coward  to, 
And  you  shall  charge  and  teach  me  to  renounce. 

She  goes  nearer  him. 

Shall  I,  remembering  the  face  of  Spring, 

Lash  me  with  icy  midnights  to  my  prayers? 

What  should  I  pray  for  then?     Oh,  teach  me  what? 

Shall  I,  remembering  that  beyond  the  wall 

You  dwell — beyond  my  sight,  my  touch,  my  help. 

Eat  out  the  past  with  acid  litanies, 

And  purge  me  of  the  very  thought  of  you? 

ABELARD 

Forget,  forget. 

HELOISE 

How  long?    And  afterward — 
Shall  I  who  am  with  you  in  this  garden  here — 

She  stretches  out  her  arms  to  him. 

Afterward,  seeing  these  flowers  who  have  seen  you. 
Say  to  this  memory. 

Touching  a  flower. 

"I  renounce  you  now, 
This  rose,  this  poppy  memory,  I  renounce  you"? 

ABELARD 

You  need  not  then  renounce  me  in  your  thoughts. 


i68  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iii 

HELOISE 

Must  I,  who  in  some  things  am  like  a  child, 
Watching  and  being  glad  through  all  the  year 
To  see  the  rolling  seasons  of  delight, 
Creep  to  sad  duties,  as  to  move  a  bead, 
To  fix  a  candle,  or  to  mumble  prayers 
Always,  whose  only  duty  is  to  you? 

ABELARD 

Let  your  first  prayer  be  not  to  think  again. 

HELOISE 

Shall  I  deny  our  earth,  our  sky — and  us? 

ABELARD 

Only  retaliate  for  that  earth  and  sky 
Have  cast  us  off  and  left  us  without  home. 

HELOISE 

Must  earth  be  only  treading  for  my  feet 
While  I  go  seek  my  ever-hiding  soul. 
Only  the  sad,  elusive  and  the  far — 
And  you,  of  all,  unendingly  away? 
Must  I  look  upward  to  the  sky  and  find 
Only  the  sky,  and  never  know  again 
If  you  are  under  it  and  what  your  need  is? 

ABELARD 

My  deepest  need  is  only  deepest  peace. 


Acxm]       ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  169 

HELOISE 

But  oh,  you  cannot  tell,  you  swiftly  change. 
Oh,  I  could  aid  you  best  outside  in  the  world; 
I  could  be  serviceable  in  secret  there. 
More  than  behind  these  dead,  preventing  walls. 
They'd  be  the  very  fort  of  our  worst  doom 
To  hurl  me  back  and  back  and  back  forever 
From  my  glad,  secret  battle  at  your  side. 

ABELARD 

I  shall  no  longer  fight.     The  battle's  lost. 

He  moves  coldly  away. 

HELOISE,  jollowing  him  desperately 
I  cannot  and  you  will  not  make  me  go. 
I  beg  you  as  I  love  you  never  ask  me. 
This  hateful,  dead  renouncement  I  renounce. 
Life  and  our  sky!    Its  glad  cup  is  too  full 
To  bring  to  this  dead  pool.     'Twould  overflow 
And  drown  the  unaccustomed  sippers  of  it. 

He  still  retreats.     She  jollows  him  more  wildly. 

And  oh,  the  little  things,  my  Abelard! 

The  little  things,  think  of  them;  how  they  were, 

How,  when  we  found  some  wondrous  thing  together, 

Of  earth  or  sky  or  in  some  moving  book, 

Suddenly  how  our  eyes  were,  yours  in  mine, 

And  that  quick  marriage  that  there  then  was  made. 


I70  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  in 

Those  are  the  myriad  filaments  that  bind  us, 
Silken,  but  more  than  steel.     We  cannot  break  them. 

She  touches  his  sleei'c. 
And  when  sad  April,  freighted  with  the  rain, 
Poured  from  her  chill  urn  sickness  over  you. 
How  you  would  have  no  other  one  to  nurse  you? 
Remember?    Abelard. 

ABELARD 

I'll  urge  no  further. 
For  it  was  only  that  you  might  escape 
The  whirling  unavoidable  disaster 
Spilled  out  upon  the  world  by  all  the  stars 
That  made  me  speak.     But  if  it  is  your  doom 
It  is  your  doom.     And  stay  then  in  the  world. 

HELOISE,  with  joy  dawning  in  her  face 
Oh,  then  all's  well  and  I  am  of  your  mind; 
Let  us  cast  off  the  very  universe. 
If  this  is  what  you  will,  but  not  each  other. 
What  is  the  world  to  us?     But  not  each  other. 
Only  each  other  have  and  help  and  cUng  to. 

She  runs  blindly  to  Abelard  and  is  about  to  embrace  him 
when  Malart  enters  through  the  gateway. 

MALART 

Oh,  damnable  sight !     'Twill  sear  these  eyes  forever! 

Abelard  avoids  Heloise. 
I'll  speak  now,  for  I've  waited  all  too  long. 


ACTin]       ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  171 

ABELARD,  hurriedly  to  him 
I  beg  you  let  it  fall  more  gently  on  her. 
Come,  we  will  go. 

He  draws  Malart  toward  the  gate,  hut  Malart  shakes  off  and 
starts  toward  Heloise. 

Oh,  never  tell  her  now. 

MALART,  looking  at  them  both 
She  has  been  charmed  into  these  coils  too  long. 

HELOISE 

What  sick,  delirious  words  are  these  he  speaks? 
Come  within,  now,  and  rest.     Fever's  abroad. 
To-morrow,  Love,  we'll  go  together — home. 

She  stretches  out  her  hand  appealingly. 

MALART 

Together!    Never  while  this  life  is 


ABELARD,  with   a   wildj  threatening  gesture  commanding 
silence 

Malart! 

HELOISE 

Ah,  we  are  wedded.     What's  to  hinder  us? 

MALART,   lifting  Abelard^s  monk's  gown  from  behind  the 
bench  and  casting  it  over  Abeldrd  from  behind 
His  priesthood. 


172  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  in 

HELOISE,  wildly 
Abelard ! 

ABELARD,  finally  recovering  his  calmness  and  drawing  the 
cloak  about  him 

Three  days  ago 
I  entered  on  my  rest. 

To  Malart, 
Now  we  will  go. 

HELOISE,  staring  desperately  at  him 
You  have  not  taken  all  your  final  vows? 

ABELARD 

All,  and  forever,  never  to  abjure 

While  this  life  is  the  wheel  it  is  to  wrack  me. 

HELOISE,  in  a  steady^  dull  voice 

And  this  is  why  you  suffered;  that  you  passed 
Out  of  the  world,  and  afterward  remembered. 
Remembered  and  returned  to  me  again. 

She  pauses. 
I  could  take  pleasure  even  from  this  thing 
But  that  you  suffered.     So  there's  nothing  saved. 

ABELARD 

Silence  is  never  lost,  nor  timeless  peace. 
The  courts  of  heaven  are  all  white  and  still. 


ACT  III]        ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  173 

Peace  is  best,  for  that  I'll  set  my  sail. 

A  little  longer  your  unquiet  soul 

Will  swim  through  its  rough  dreams,  until  at  last 

It  beaches  on  the  dawn  and  finds  its  path; 

Meet  me  where  peace  is. 

MALART 

Come,  the  gate  will  close. 

Abelard  and  Malart  go  to  the  gateway  and  pass  through  it. 
The  gate  clangs  shut  after  them.  Heloise  has  been  stand- 
ing stonily  looking  after  Abelard  with  staring^  unseeing 
eyes  J  but  as  the  gate  shuts  she  rushes  forward  and  beats 
frantically  at  it. 

HELOISE,  crying  out 

The  gate  is  shut  and  I'll  not  have  it  so. 
Oh,  I  can  open  gates. 

Calling  wildly. 
Remember  once 
How  in  the  garden  there  the  gate  was  shut? 
I  opened  it!     Remember!    Abelard! 

The  gate  swings  slowly  open^  showing  no  one,  Heloise 
stands  staring  into  the  emptiness  but  making  no  effort  to 
go  through  the  gateway.  There  is  a  pause  of  absolute 
silence,  then  a  burst  of  organ  music  is  heard  within  the 
abbey,  Gabriella  appears  standing  in  the  abbey  doorway 
watching  Heloise,  The  music  grows  louder.  Enter  a 
procession  of  nuns  singing.     They  cross  the  garden  and 


174  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  m 

exeunt.     Heloise  turns  and  watches  them  as  they  go. 
She  then  sees  Gahriella  and  goes  slowly  to  her. 

Mother,  now  put  the  veil  upon  my  head. 

GABRIELLA 

Come,  sleep  is  safe.    I'll  hold  and  lull  you.     Sleep. 

HELOISE 

Oh,  put  the  veil  upon  me.     Hide  this  world. 
He's  gone  from  it,  1*11  follow  him  away. 

She  looks  desperately  about. 

Yet  I  remember — oh,  but  never  doubt — 
Yet  there  was  once  a  world — there  is  a  world. 
At  least  we'll  be  together  in  one  world, 
A  smaller — we'll  be  nearer — cover  me. 

Gabriella  leads  her  pityingly  toward  the  abbey  door,  em- 
bracing her.     Exeunt  both. 


Curtain. 


ACT  IV 

Twenty  years  later.  A  road  near  Chdlons,  The  brow  oj 
a  hill  overlooking  a  valley.  On  the  lejt  the  road  enters  a 
wood  into  which  there  are  also  several  paths.  Back,  cen- 
tre, and  at  the  very  edge  oj  the  hill  is  a  wayside  shrine  of 
white,  consisting  of  two  pillars  forming  a  pergola 
and  between  them  is  a  figure  of  the  Virgin.  Into  the 
base  of  the  shrine  a  broad  ledge  is  built  for  the  wor- 
shippers. Three  low  steps  lead  to  it.  The  shrine 
commands  a  view  of  the  west  and  the  time  is  late  after- 
noon of  a  summer  day. 

Enter  the  King,  a  lad  of  eight,  on  horseback.  At  his  side 
walk  a  train  of  attendants,  soldiers,  and  nobles. 

THE  KING,  halting 
Here  is  a  place  where  one  should  pause  and  pray. 

A  COURTIER 

A  kingly  thought. 

THE   KING 

Where  is  my  holy  nurse? 

SECOND   COURTIER 

Your  majesty  is  much  too  gracious  to  her. 

THE   KING 

Why  not?    She  knows  the  stories.     Where  is  she? 

175 


176  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iv 

FIRST  COURTIER 

She  paused  awhile. 

THE   KING 

Go  fetch  her. 

SECOND  COURTIER,  looking  off 

She  comes  now. 

Enter  Heloise  in  the  robe  of  an  abbess.      She  goes  lovingly 
to  the  King, 

THE   KING 

Dearest,  here's  a  pretty  place  to  see. 

HELOISE 

Yes,  my  child. 

THE  KING 

It's  almost  like  the  picture 
In  our  old  fairy-book — except  the  fairies. 

HELOISE 

Yes,  dear. 

THE  KING,  drawing  himself  up  proudly  on  his  horse 
I  could  be  brave  here. 

The  courtiers  have  been  regarding  Heloise  with  envious 
and  impatient  looks,  whispering  among  themselves, 

A  COURTIER,  stepping  forward 

Royal  sir, 
You  do  not  need  your  bravery  on  this  earth, 
For  we,  your  courtiers,  will  be  brave  for  you. 


ACT  IV]        ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  177 

THE  KING 

No,  I  must  have  more  courage  than  you  all. 
She  told  me  so.     Dear,  didn't  you? 

Taking  Heloise^s  hand, 

SECOND  COURTIER,  looking  at  Heloise 

That's  false  teaching. 

To  the  King, 
For  it  destroys  your  faith  in  loyalty. 

THE   KING 

I'd  trust  her  first.     She's  truer  than  the  others. 

A  SOLDIER,  stepping  forward 
Think  not  of  women.     Be  a  mighty  king 
And  lead  God's  army  to  His  sepulchre. 
Bum,  mangle,  kill  the  fiendish  infidel. 
Wrest  the  true  cross  from  their  unholy  grip 
And  bring  it  to  bless  France. 

THE   KING 

Yes,  that  I'll  do. 

HELOISE 

Stay,  dear,  at  home;  France  is  your  cross  to  bear. 

Look  on  those  fields — 

Pointing  to  the  valley. 

Do  they  seem  fair? 

THE  KING,  looking 

Yes,  fair. 


178  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iv 

HELOISE 

Little  children  are  unhappy  there. 

THE  KING,  wanderingly 
What  makes  them  so? 

HELOISE 

They  starve. 

THE  KING,  sternly 

I'll  not  have  that. 
Let  them  be  given  sweets. 

A  COURTIER 

Your  majesty, 
They  have  enough ;  the  land  groans  with  the  harvest. 
Much  food  is  in  the  tillage  of  the  poor 

HELOISE 

But  not  for  them. 

To  the  King. 

Remember  those  we  passed. 
The  wailing,  clutching  ones  who  cried  upon  you. 

THE  KING 

I'll  make  them  glad  again.     I'm  a  good  king. 

Enter  from  the  valley  three  monks.     They  approach  the 
kingf  making  obeisance. 

A  MONK 

HaiL  Anointed  One  of  God. 


ACT  IV]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  179 

THE  KING,  to  those  about  him 
Who's  he? 

SECOND  MONK 

Tidings !    A  prophet  has  arisen  in  your  realm, 
A  glorious  youth,  a  later  John,  a  trumpet! 
Crying  across  the  world,  ''Crusade,  Crusade!" 
Come  to  the  valley,  hear  him,  and  be  moved 
To  avenge  the  murdered  Christ. 

THE  KING,  to  Heloise 

What  does  he  mean? 

HELOISE 

A  preacher  speaks  below  there. 

Pointing  to  the  valley. 

THE  KING,  joyfully 

Will  he  shout? 

A  COURTIER 

Yes,  sire. 

THE  KING 

I'll  go  and  hear  him  then.     I  love 
To  hear  men  shout.    It's  better  than  a  drum. 

To  Heloise. 

Dear  nurse,  your  face  is  white  and  tired.     Rest  here, 
And  wear  my  purple  cloak,  it  is  too  heavy. 


i8o  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iv 

He  casts  his  purple  mantle  about  Heloise.     The  courtiers 
witness  it  enraged. 

Kiss  me,  and  I'll  come  back  to  you. 

She  kisses  him. 

Lead  on. 
Exeunt  King  and  all  save  Heloise.     Enter  along  the  road 
to  her.  Luce  dressed  as  a  nun. 

LUCE 

How — Where's  the  king? 

HELOISE 

In  evil  hands,  my  Luce. 
But  he  would  go.     Some  voice  there  in  the  valley 
Will  speak;  and  he  would  go.     Poor  baby  heart. 
She  looks  lovingly  toward  the  valley ,  then  turns  back  to  Luce. 
What  of  the  famished  woman?    Did  she  eat? 

LUCE 

Yes,  but  her  hunger's  gnawed  her  mind,  it's  gone. 
She  glowered  only,  and  snapping,  dropped  her  child. 
No  woman,  but  a  wolf. 

HELOISE 

She  must  be  housed. 

LUCE 

They  say  a  hermit's  in  that  wood. 

Pointing  to  it. 

I  sent 

To  ask  the  shelter  of  his  hut  for  her. 


ACT  IV]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  i8i 

HELOISE 

How  this  fair  land  is  blotted  and  stained  black 
To  whiten  bloody  things  in  Palestine. 

LUCE,  sadly 

I  must  not  call  that  thing  or  cause  unholy 
In  which  my  Gervase  died. 

HELOISE 

No — there's  one  soul 
That  smiled  its  way  to  God  all  unashamed. 

LUCE,  covering  her  face  with  her  hand 

He  was  a  better  man  than  I  had  hoped. 

Well  there, 

Wiping  her  eyes. 

Perhaps  God's  brides  must  never  think 
Of  dead  men. 

Enter  a  page  from  the  wood. 

Here's  the  page  I  sent  to  seek 
The  hermit. 

To  page. 
Did  you  find  him? 

PAGE 

Find  him!    Yes. 
Would  I  could  lose  again  the  sight  of  him. 

Shtiddering. 


i82  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iv 

His  lair's  a  secret  bower  in  green  leaves 
That  tap  his  window  with  soft,  summer  touches. 
Its  flowers  blush  for  him.    I  knocked.     He  rushed 
Forth,  beastlike,  monstrous— crusted  all  with  wounds. 
Shrieking  "Repent!  Repent!"  before  I'd  sinned, 
He  would  not  hear  me,  only  howled,  "Repent! " 
And  followed  me  so  bawling. 

A  harsh  voice  is  heard  in  the  wood  approaching. 

Here  he  comes. 

Enter  the  hermit  emaciated^  bent,  running  with  his  hands 
raised  above  him, 

THE  HERMIT 

Fly,  fly  from  the  wrath  of  righteous  God! 

He  faces  Heloise. 

HELOISE 

Malart! 

MALART 

What!    Scarlet  Babylon  has  come  back  again. 
I  thought  I  heaped  the  ashes  over  her. 

Looking  at  her  intently. 
Woe,  woe,  these  twenty  years  have  not  sufficed. 

HELOISE 

Yes,  truly  you  were  kindler  of  that  fire 
That  has  consumed  my  life. 


ACT  IV]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  183 

MALART 

Was  it  not  well 
That  such  an  evil  as  that  life  should  be 
Brought  low  to  dust? 

HELOISE,  turning  from  him 

Is  he  all  madman,  Luce? 
Or  would  some  words  of  mine  eat  through  the  shell 
And  burn  into  the  man? 

LUCE 

Spend  a  few  on  him. 
I'll  pray  that  they  may  lash  him  to  some  hell. 

HELOISE,  turning  and  going  near  him 
Malart,  come  forth  from  this  bleak  tomb  of  years. 
Know  that  the  deadly  curse  you  heaped  upon  us 
Availed  not  but  to  make  me  suffer.     I 
Am  his,  and  my  thoughts  never  are  of  heaven. 
For  earth  is  still  his  dwelling. 

MALART 

Hopeless  Devil, 
Then  is  my  weary  labor  all  to  do 
Over  until  the  smoke  of  your  red  burning 
Goes  up  forever  and  forever? 

LUCE,  taking  Heloise's  hand 
Come, 
You  cannot  reach  him ;  all  the  man  is  dead, 
Only  the  curse  remains.    - 


i84  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iv 

HELOISE,  moving  away 

The  curse  indeed. 

MALART,  following  her  fiercely 

So  I  must  set  you  now  newly  afire, 

And  blow  your  embers  to  a  new-made  flame 

To  scorch  you  deeper;  know  you  where  he  is? 

HELOISE,  turning  desperately  to  him 

Oh,  if  you  know,  be  merciful  now  at  last 
And  give  me  news  of  him. 

MALART 

News  I  will  give  you, 
And  without  mercy;  he  is  near  you  now! 

HELOISE 

Near? 

MALART 

And  now  falls  my  lash;  he  is  in  anguish. 

HELOISE 

Oh,  where? 

MALART 

Even  that  I'll  tell  and  add  that  fagot  more. 
Beyond  this  wood  in  St.  Marcellus  Abbey! 

HELOISE,  starting  back  on  the  road 

ru  go. 


ACT  IV]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  185 

MALART,  going  in  front  of  her 
So  now  I  have  you  at  the  stake. 
Marcellus  gates  are  built — locked — barred  against 

you, 
Being  a  woman.    So  be  helpless  here 
As  he  is  helpless  near  you. 

HELOISE 

So  you  dreamed 

That  stone  or  steel  could  hold  me  from  him  now. 

Then  you  have  failed  at  last — this  destined  arrow 

Spreads  to  a  blessing. 

She  stands  victoriously  before  him. 

And  I  thank  you. 

To  Luce. 

Come. 

To  Malart  as  she  goes. 

Will  you  not  watch  us  meet? 

MALART,  shrieking 

Woe  of  the  world, 
1*11  find  a  way  to  bring  you  further  bitter 
Till  you  are  poisoned  all. 

LUCE,  drawing  Heloise  away  as  they  depart 
Come,  come  away, 
I  cannot  hear  him  and  be  still  a  nun. 
Go  find  the  abbey.    I  will  seek  the  woman 
To  give  her  further  food,  then  follow  you. 


i86  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE         [activ 

HELOISE,  halting  perplexedly  at  the  wood  into  which  two 
paths  lead.     Then  she  chooses  one  oj  them 

It  must  be  by  this  path.     It  is  the  whiter. 

LUCE 

I'll  go  a  little  with  you  and  help  find  it. 

Exeunt  Heloise  and  Luce. 

MALART,  looking  after  Heloise  as  she  goes 
Avaunt  Sathanas!    Retro! 

He  turns  with  raised  and  clenched  fists. 
Let  me  only 
Behold  her  at  the  last,  and  be  avenged. 

Enter  several  people  hastily  along  the  road  from  the  left  and 
exeunt  severally  across  and  down  the  hill. 

Children  of  Wrath,  why  breathless  to  the  tomb? 
He  lays  hold  of  one  of  them^  a  young  monk,  and  detains  him. 

THE  YOUNG  MONK 
Breathlessly,  and  eagerly  looking  toward  the  valley. 
The  preacher! 

MALART 

Where? 

THE  YOUNG  MONK,  pointing 

Within  the  valley  there, 
We  run  to  hear  him.     Haste.     I  shall  be  late. 


ACT  IV]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  il| 

MALART,  still  detaining  him 

All  clamorers  are  not  of  God;  he  may  be 
An  evil  prophet. 

THE  YOUNG  MONK,  radiantly 

No,  a  glorious  one. 
His  words  are  burning  doves  that  nest  within, 
Calling  and  drawing  hope  and  giving  wings 
To  dare  for  all  desire.     He  summons  all 
To  get  Christ's  cup  and  rood  from  infidels! 

MALART 

How  know  you? 

THE  YOUNG  MONK 

I  have  heard  him  yesterday. 
None  preaches  like  the  mighty  Astrolobus 

MALART,  starting  violently 
Ha!    Astrolobus! 

THE  YOUNG  MONK 

And  withal,  a  youth 
No  older  than  myself. 

MALART,  clutching  him 

Where  rose  this  preacher? 

THE   YOUNG  MONK 

At  Cluny  he  was  nurtured  by  the  monks. 


i88  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iv 

MALART,  releasing  him  and  turning  away 
'Tis  he!    O  thou  avenging  Host,  I  thank  thee! 
Here  is  my  scourge. 

THE  YOUNG  MONK,  going 

Farewell  now. 

MALART,  going  toward  him 

Hold  and  hear: 
Shall  one  bom  out  of  wedlock  be  God's  priest? 

THE  YOUNG  MONK 

It  is  forbidden. 

MALART 

Shall  he  take  God's  name 
On  his  unlawful  lips?     Shall  he  guide  souls 
To  heaven,  who  cannot  enter  in  himself? 

THE  YOUNG  MONK 

Never!    But  why  detain  me  with  such  sorrow? 


MALART 

He  whom  you  rush  to  hear  is  such  a  one. 

THE  YOUNG  MONK 

Oh,  dreadful  and  impossible! 

MALART,  watching  him 

You  have  heard 
The  tale  of  that  great  leman,  Heloise? 


X 


ACT  IV]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  189 

THE  YOUNG  MONK 

Yes,  heard  it,  and  on  many  a  midnight  wept. 

He  pauses^  thinking  solemnly. 

And  yet — she  took  God's  veil. 

MALART,  slowly 

Her  shame  came  after. 

THE  YOUNG  MONK 

O  sorrow. 

MALART 

In  its  earliest  hour  of  life 
The  child  was  rescued  from  her  and  was  given 
To  learn  sad  penance  in  dark  Cluny's  cloisters. 
And  there  named — Astrolobus! 

THE  YOUNG  MONK,  wonderingly 
It  is  he! 

MALART 

Woe,  woe,  blasphemous  he,  who  should  be  plunged 
In  endless  silence,  penitential  tears — 
Walks  barefaced  on  the  world  and  prates  of  souls, 
Fills  his  unholy  mouth  with  holy  names — 

He  suddenly  turns  upon  the  young  monk,  watching  the  effect 
of  his  words. 

Duty  now  calls  us  to  stop  up  those  lips 
By  wide  revealing  of  his  shame. 


igo  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iv 

THE  YOUNG  MONK,  grave  with  conviction 
Oh,  sad! 

MALART,  still  watching  him 
Before  the  congregation  utterly 
Abase  him. 

THE  YOUNG  MONK,  going 

If  it  must  be,  I  will  hasten 
And  hear  a  little  first. 

EocUf  running  down  the  hill, 

MALART,  going  after  him 

Now  triumph  come. 
Here  is  the  net  in  which  my  world  is  caught. 

Exit.  Enter  from  the  woods  a  young  acolyte  hurriedly^  fol- 
lowed by  Peter  of  Cliiny.  The  abbot  is  aged  and  frail 
and  goes  with  great  difficulty  by  the  aid  of  a  staff, 

THE   ACOLYTE 

Ah,  Father  Peter,  we'll  not  be  in  time. 

PETER,  hobbling  painfully 
I  come  swiftly. 

THE  ACOLYTE,  returning  to  him 
Let  me  help  you. 

PETER 

Off, 
Time  will  aid  me. 


ACT  IV]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  191 

THE  ACOLYTE 

But  time  is  so  slow. 

PETER 

It's  fast  enough  for  what  it  brings  us  to. 

VOICES  OUTSIDE,  on  the  road  behind  them 

Hail. 
PETER,  turning 
Who  s  there? 

Enter  along  the  road  two  papal  guards^  followed  by  a  Pope's 
messenger. 

ACOLYTE,  joyfully 
What,  strangers? 

PETER 

Benedicite. 

A  GUARD 

Way  for  the  Nuncio  of  holy  Rome. 

PETER 

What,  the  Pope's  messenger  at  last! 

NUNCIO,  halting 

Good  brother 
Can  you  direct  us  to  Marcellus  Cloister? 

PETER 

I  can,  for  there  I  once  renounced  the  world 
At  six  months'  age.     Yet  even  then  the  world 

He  mutters. 
Was  old.     But  I  shall  not  be  young  again. 


192  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [activ 

NUNCIO 

And  does  one  Abelard  abide  there  still? 

PETER 

He  seems  to;  mark  I  say,  he  only  seems. 

He  peers  long  at  the  Nuncio. 
Your  face  is  sombre.    AbsU  omen. 

NUNCIO 

Yes, 
I  come  upon  a  dreadful  errand  here. 

PETER,  sadly 

Oh,  never  say  the  holy  father  judged 
Against  him. 

NUNCIO 

I  bear  news  to  him  of  that. 
He  has  been  excommunicated  wholly 
And  dreadfully  cast  forth  from  out  the  Church. 

PETER,  turning  toward  the  wood  with  an  agonized  jace 

O  my  brother!  thou  art  brother  still. 

Would  I  might  drink  this  one  last  cup  for  thee! 

Turning  again  to  the  Nuncio. 

Read  me  the  excommunication  now. 

That  I  may  know  what  thin  and  watery  reasons 

Temper  the  steel  of  it. 


ACT  IV]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  193 

NUNCIO 

Then  Ksten. 

He  takes  from  his  bosom  a  great  black  parchment  sealed  with 
a  red  seal.     He  breaks  the  seal  and  unfolds  it, 

Reading, 

For 
His  treasonable  designs  against  the  Rood, 
By  planting  pagan  thoughts  among  the  youthful, 
For  vile  pollution  of  the  eucharist. 
By  eating — without  faith — at  high  communion, 
For  blasphemies  against  the  word  of  God, 
By  praising  dead  and  damned  philosophers — 
Calling  one  Aristotle  worthy  of  heaven 

PETER,  turning  away 
Enough!    I'll  not  hear  more.    The  end  is  come. 

NUNCIO,  going  toward  the  wood,  followed  by  the  guards 
Is  this  the  path? 

PETER,  starting 

Hold!    Stay  the  horrid  blow 
A  few  poor  breaths :  he  follows  slowly  here 
To  hear  one  in  the  valley.    He  will  come 
Presently  to  this  place.     Wait  here  for  him. 
Run  not  to  meet  him  freighted  with  this  curse! 


194  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  iv 

NUNCIO 

Why  that  is  kindly,  I  bear  him  no  malice, 
But  am  here  only  God's  poor  sword-bearer. 
I'll  wait  his  coming. 

He  returns  and  seats  himself. 

Will  he  die,  think  you? 

PETER 

Die?    Death  is  not  the  thought — I  cannot  tell 

Whether  it  will  revive  him  into  death. 

He  is  a  cloud  that  has  forgot  its  rain, 

Dry,  dry,  such  as  in  deserts  in  a  drought 

Come  in  the  air  and  are  and  are  not  seen; 

Nor  white  nor  dark,  nor  hot  nor  cold,  but  sick, 

Sick  with  a  fever  of  a  fever's  end. 

And  yet  give  forth  no  sickness,  but  are  poisoned 

Within  themselves,  too  piteous  to  be  feared, 

Too  listless  to  be  hoped  for,  only  pity 

Goes  up  to  them. 

NUNCIO 

I  think  death  would  be  welcome 
To  such  a  man. 

PETER 

If  he  had  but  received  it 
Long  ago.     But  he  has  lingered  past  it. 
And  now  it  shuns  him.     For  these  twenty  years 


ACT  IV]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  195 

He  has  been  fighting  in  a  heavy  fight, 

Without  Life's  armor  on.     Bernard  has  conquered. 

A  sound  without  in  the  wood.     He  turns  and  points, 

Lo,  he  approaches  even  now  his  doom, 

His  last,  dread  fate.     See  there,  can  you  not  stay 

The  course? 

NUNCIO 

God's  stony  will  be  done  as  ever; 
I  cannot  change  it,  though  I  gladly  would. 

Enter  from  the  wood  Abelardj  weak  and  stricken  as  by  illness. 
He  walks  with  his  head  bowed  and  is  supported  by  two 
monks, 

A  MONK,  to  his  fellow 
Rest  here,  he  can  no  further  go. 

The  two  monks  support  Abelard  to  the  ledge  of  the  shrine, 
where  he  sinks  slowly  down  with  his  eyes  closed.  Peter 
goes  to  him  and  speaks  aside  to  him. 

SECOND  MONK,  turning  to  Peter  and  the  Nuncio 

Good  brothers,        ' 
You  pause  here? 

PETER 

We,  like  you,  would  rest,  and  here 
We  met  with  strangers. 


196  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iv 

ABELARD 

Many  strangers  come, 
But  none  go  strangers. 

FIRST  MONK 

He  speaks  of  this  world. 

PETER 

Abelard,  I  pray  you,  fix  your  weary  eyes 
Not  upon  this  poor  world  but  on  the  other. 

ABELARD 

Once  I  was  cursed  with  blindness,  now  my  woe 
Is  too  clear  vision. 

PETER 

Surely  both  of  these 
Cannot  be  sorrows,  but  if  one  must  be, 
The  other  is  a  joy. 

ABELARD 

The  world's  still  here, 
Still  to  be  seen — if  seen,  then  shuddered  at. 
If  fallen  upon  in  darkness,  'tis  a  marsh 
That  overwhelms  at  last  our  glowworm  fires. 

PETER 

All  is  not  treacherous  lowland  on  this  earth. 
The  heights  are  still  above. 


ACT  IV]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  197 

ABELARD 

And  I  have  seen  them 
A  naked  warning,  never  struggle  up : 
They're  made  to  fall  from. 

PETER 

Is  there  then  no  hope 
That  you  may  yet  again  mount  up  that  path 
And  win  the  sky  at  last? 

ABELARD 

I  He  here  torn 
Low  at  the  stony  base  upon  the  plain, 
Waiting  one  thing  alone,  a  word  from  Rome 
For  confirmation  that  I  did  not  fall 
In  vain. 

PETER,  ajter  a  pause  pointing  to  the  west 

See  brother,  even  now  the  sun 
After  its  day-long  dimbing  toward  desire 
Sinks  ruinous  to  its  sombre,  silent  doom. 
And  out  of  all  the  void  there  is  no  voice 
To  say  "Well  done,"  then  how  much  less  can  you 
Hope  to  receive  such  blessed  benison? 

ABELARD 

Yet  it  must  come,  there  must  be  that  one  hght. 
Else  I'll  not  know  how  large  the  darkness  is. 


igS  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  iv 

PETER 

There  are  abysses  void  of  any  star. 

ABELARD 

But  there  are  stars  beyond,  useless,  dry,  cold. 
Yet  they  will  light  my  grave  and  show  to  others 
Why  it  was  dug,  or  show  to  me  at  least 
How  deep  it  is. 

PETER,  looking  apprehensively  from  time  to  time  at  the 
NunciOy  whOf  however^  remains  standing  motionless 
gazing  at  Ahelard  and  holding  the  excommunication  be- 
hind him 

We  all  must  have  our  graves. 

ABELARD 

I  needed  none,  for  I  am  my  own  tomb, 

And  every  day  digs  uselessly  for  me. 

Already  buried,  none  shall  find  me  out 

Save  at  the  end.     Day  after  day  till  then 

Passes  above  me  futile  to  assault 

As  it  is  feeble  to  bring  blessing  on  me. 

None  can  uncover  me  save  that  last  hour 

Which  Rome  shall  send  me  that  I  may  have  peace. 

NUNCIO,  taking  a  jew  steps  toward  the  hill  and  then  turning 
hack  to  Ahelard 

Brother,  the  sun  is  down. 


ACT  IV]  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  199 

ABELARD 

That's  one  day  more. 
I'll  look  upon  now  where  it  was. 
There  will  a  glory  dwell  about  it  now, 
Since  it  is  useless  to  make  warm  the  world. 

He  moves  as  though  to  rise;  the  two  monks  lift  him  and 
support  him  to  the  brow  of  the  hill  where  he  stands  gazing 
at  the  sky. 

PETER,  indicating  the  excommunication  which  hangs  in 
the  inert  hand  of  the  Nuncio  who  gazes  after  Abelard 

You  did  not  give  it. 

NUNCIO,  starting 

No,  nor  ever  shall. 

While  this  heart's  human  pity  wields  the  act 

I  could  not;  but 

Turning  to  Peter. 

A  friend  like  you  should  do  it. 

PETER 

Never.     Destroy  it. 

NUNCIO 

ft  is  worth  my  life. 
Rome  still  must  be  obeyed.     It  must  be  given. 

PETER 

Who  then  shall  do  it? 


200  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iv 

NUNCIO 

One  without  a  pulse. 

ACOLYTE 

I  have  it! 

PETER 

Who? 

ACOLYTE 

The  hermit. 

PETER 

Who  is  he? 

ACOLYTE 

He  dwelk  near  by,  a  lean  and  pious  man, 

So  burning  with  his  duty  unto  God 

That  it  has  charred  all  nature's  blood  in  him. 

NUNCIO 

He  must  be  then  the  one  we  passed  below 
Rushing  with  upraised  hands. 

ACOLYTE 

Gray? 

NUNCIO 

Yes,  and  fierce. 

ACOLYTE 

'Tis  he. 

NUNCIO 

Let  us  go  down  and  give  it  to  him. 


ACT  IV]  ABELARD   AND   HELOISE  201 

PETER 

Abelard  is  too  weak  to  journey  farther. 
The  hermit  shall  return  and  find  him  here 
And  so  deliver  it.     I'll  follow  him. 

ACOLYTE 

Hush  now — he  turns,  they  bring  him  back  to  us. 

The  two  monks  support  Abelard  back  to  the  ledge  oj  the  shrine, 
where  he  sinks  in  a  reclining  posture  as  though  fainting. 
One  of  the  monks  puts  the  cowl  over  Ahelard's  face. 

PETER,  to  the  two  monks 

We  go  upon  an  errand  to  the  valley. 

Bide  here  with  him — be  tender — so  farewell. 

Exeunt  down  the  hill  Peter j  the  Acolyte,  the  Nuncio  and  his 
guards. 

FIRST  MONK 

Now  we'll  not  hear  the  preacher. 

SECOND  MONK 

And  I've  dreamed 
This  fortnight  that  he  was  St.  John,  and  I 
Should  look  upon  him. 


For  being  eager. 


FIRST  MONK 

We  are  punished  thus 


202  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE         [act  iv 


\ 


SECOND  MONK 

I  am  punished  always 
For  any  longing;  it  is  God's  good  way. 

Enter  slowly  from  the  wood  Heloise. 

FIRST  MONK 

Who's  this?    A  Sister!     She's  the  one  shall  stay. 

SECOND  MONK 

Oh,  'tis  a  blessing  sent. 

FIRST  MONK,  pointing  to  the  cowled  figure  oj  Ahelard 

Good  Sister,  see 
An  ailing  brother  fallen  on  the  way. 
Come,  minister  to  him  while  we  make  haste 
Unto  the  congregation  there  below. 

SECOND  MONK 

At  last  I'll  hear. 

Going. 
FIRST  MONK 

Hasten,  he  may  be  ended. 

Exeunt  the  two  monks,  Heloise  goes  to  the  reclining  figure 
with  impulsive  pity.  She  lifts  the  cowl.  His  face  is 
disclosed.     She  starts  back  and  Ahelard  half  rises. 

HELOISE,  wildly 
Abelard! 

ABELARD,  faintly 

Heloise ! 


ACT  IV]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  203 

HELOISE 

O  my  immortal  love! 

ABELARD,  passing  his  hand  before  his  eyes 

Have  not  the  years  prevailed  against  this  dream, 
That  it  must  touch  again  the  air  about  me? 

HELOISE 

No  dream  is  here,  but  the  awakening. 

ABELARD,  weakly  looking  at  her 

I  see 

He  pauses  with  sinking  head. 

HELOISE,  touching  him  pityingly 
You  shudder  as  from  blighting  cold. 

ABELARD 

I  am  enshrouded  in  a  frozen  world 

That  makes  my  marrow  ice 

He  pauses. 

And  who  shall  melt  it? 

HELOISE 

Touch  but  this  hand.     It  seems  as  it  could  pour 
Even  too  much  fire  upon  you. 

ABELARD 

But  to  warm  me. 
Never. 


204  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iv 

HELOISE 

You  pale — an  illness  is  upon  you. 

ABELARD 

My  illness  is  not  ruled  by  mortal  change; 
I  am  Pain*s  self  and  live  beyond  despair. 

HELOISE 

Can  you  take  nothing  of  healing  from  my  hands, 
My  Source!  from  whom  my  springs  of  life  arose 
Brimming  their  full  banks  with  a  mighty  flood 
That  has  been  lowered  never  since  it  rose 
Deep  from  your  heart? 

ABELARD 

My  life  these  many  years 
Has  languished  dry  like  sand  and  I  have  walked 
Within  a  world  robbed  of  its  rain  and  dew, 
Pent  in  myself  as  underneath  a  roof 
That  kept  off  heaven  and  let  in  the  world. 

HELOISE 

There  is  an  ebb  to  sorrow  oftentimes, 

When  tears  have  drowned  the  topmost  flower  of  grief. 

ABELAM) 


If  I  had  any  longer  any  tears, 
You  too  would  wash  away. 


ACT  IV]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  205 

HELOISE 

Can  you  not  weep? 

ABELARD 

I  never  wept  except  as  poets  do, 

Whose  tears  are  only  tears  while  they  are  heard. 

HELOISE 

You  name  the  poet's  mind  without  the  heart; 
You  never  drew  me  by  the  mind  alone. 

ABELARD,  continuing  as  though  unhearing 
That  conscious  face  I  wore  before  the  world 
Has  turned  upon  itself  to  rend  and  tear  me, 
And  is  a  Gorgon  that  has  struck  me  dumb. 
Expression  is  a  sweet  I've  lost  the  taste  of, 
And  it  is  flatter  now  than  silence  is. 
I  am  a  harp  unstrung — nothing  is  emptier. 

HELOISE 

Ah,  you  forget — you  never  were  of  old 
Moved  to  emotion  by  a  conscious  mood. 
But  ever  lived  your  hours  too  blindly  eager. 

ABELARD 

My  soul  was  prism-like  and  seized  upon 

All  hues  of  life  out  of  clear-seeming  air, 

Only  to  pass  them  through  me  into  color. 

None — none  were  held,  and  now  the  glass  is  dulled. 

Lo,  there  is  no  man  there  that  seemed  to  hold  it. 


2o6  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iv 

HELOISE 

I  am  one  color  that  remains  to  you. 

ABELARD 

The  world  is  parched  and  a  desert  thing 
When  I,  the  fountain  that  would  make  it  green, 
Cannot  reflect  its  greenness  in  myself. 

HELOISE,  looking  at  him  long 

Now  if  you  ever  doubted,  oh,  believe 

That  in  the  end  all  will  be  well  with  us; 

That  merciless  lance  of  this,  your  new-found  vision. 

Shall  be  a  light  that  shall  illume  the  mists 

That  damped  and  ailed  this  mortal  hfe  of  yours, 

Making  it  fretful,  sick,  and  feverous. 

ABELARD 

The  years  have  put  a  candle  in  my  hand 

Too  late.     Midnight  has  come.     The  void  surrounds 

me. 
Black,  limitless;  I  cannot  see  the  way. 
My  light  is  guttering  now. 

HELOISE 

Believe,  believe! 
Cling  to  that  glory  that  enfolded  us 
Upon  the  instant  of  our  earliest  kiss, 
For  it  is  symbol  of  a  saving  thing; 


ACT  IV]         ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  207 

Though  we  groped  upward  from  a  bhnd  abyss 
Into  the  world,  did  we  not  find  each  other? 
And  at  that  meeting  something  was  as  flame 
That  shall  not  fade  or  fail  to  tell  our  eyes 
The  radiant  promise  of  this  world  to  us, 
Who  burn  across  it  to  abide  beyond. 

ABELARD  ^ 

I  only  Hved  by  day,  the  night's  uncharted. 

HELOISE,  pointing  to  the  west.     It  is  now  after  sunset 
See  how  that  sunken  glory  in  the  air. 
Fining  the  west  with  the  old  altar  fire, 
Beacons  its  promise  of  dawn  following. 
And  how  the  twilight  star's  imperial  tear 
Sheds  its  most  white  atonement  on  the  world 
For  what  the  day  has  lost  and  sinned  against. 

ABELARD 

Lost,  sinned  against — the  words  are  chosen  well. 

He  slowly  looks  up  at  her. 
What  do  you  wish  of  me? 

HELOISE,   moving  as   though   she  had  been  smitten;  she 
hesitates  and  then  speaks 

Oh,  I  am  young 

She  pauses  an  instant. 
I  am  not  old.     Can  I  not,  with  my  strength 
Raise  you  from  this  affliction  of  blank  pain? 


2o8  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iv 

ABELARD 

I  have  a  strength  too  great.     It  lasts  too  long. 

He  pauses. 
One  thing  I  linger  for — to  see  the  end. 

For  all  my  once-wild  faith,  my  dreams,  my  hopes 
Have  shrunk  and  narrowed  to  this  lean  belief, 
That  in  the  end  I  shall  be  justified. 

HELOISE 

Are  you  not  justified  that  we  shall  conquer? 

ABELARD,  looking  at  her 

Sister,  I  speak  of  Europe,  not  of  us, 
The  mind  of  the  world,  that  I,  having  once  died, 
Lived  on  to  save.     Oh,  I  have  suffered  earth 
That  I  might  heal  the  sickness  of  itself. 
For  Reason's  sake  I  have  been  spumed  and  stoned 
From  every  cloister  in  this  faith-blind  land. 
I  totter  on  the  wall,  but  here  I  conquer. 
He  looks  up  with  rising  energy  and  a  show  of  the  old  fire. 
I  have  appealed  to  Rome 

HELOISE,  starting 

To  Rome,  my  Soul? 

ABELARD 

There  my  salvation  and  all  Europe's  is. 

The  Pope  shall  save  me  and  with  me  the  world. 

Here  I  await  his  salvos  for  my  life. 


ACT  IV]  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  209 

HELOISE,  swiftly 
But  if  his  mandate  is  against  the  stars? 

ABELARD 

It  cannot  be — my  vindication's  sure. 

HELOISE,  imploringly 

0  Love,  keep  back  some  faith  from  this  adventure; 
Hazard  not  all  in  the  old  blinder  way. 

No  ship  from  Rome  bears  argosies  of  Reason, 
Keep  back  a  little  faith  to  live  upon 
If  this  frail  vessel  sink  beneath  the  sea. 

ABELARD 

1  am  a  fruit  tree  blasted,  and  I  cHng 
Even  to  autumn  by  a  single  leaf. 

I  have  long  been  kin  to  it,  and  with  cold  fingers 

It  shall  erase  me  from  this  troubled  field. 

Only  let  not  my  agony  be  in  vain; 

Only  to  see  the  heritage  I  die  for 

Lives  and  is  safe. 

His  head  sinks. 
HELOISE,  piteously 

I  pray  you,  Love,  withhold 

Your  bHnd  reHance  on  so  wraithHke  hopes. 

She  pauses  J  then  leans  toward  him,  speaking  quickly. 

Fix  all  your  gaze  upon  that  other  hope 

Bom  of  our  love  and  clothed  qji  with  its  fire 

Of  prayer  and  tears. 


2IO  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iv 

ABELARD,  looking  at  her  wonderingly 
You  speak  some  mystery. 

HELOISE 

Of  whom  I  told  in  letters  long  ago. 

ABELARD 

Letters  I  had,  but  naught  of  hope  in  them. 

HELOISE,  slowly 
You  heard  not  of  him  from  me  ever? 

ABELARD,  gazing  at  her 

Him? 

HELOISE,  turning 

Not  even  to  have  shared  this  thing  together. 

ABELARD,  still  jollowing  her  with  his  eyes 
Together ? 

HELOISE,  turning  hack  to  him 

Afterward — oh,  afterward 


She  pauses. 
Our  love  put  on  mortality — a  son ! 

She  sinks  down  beside  him^  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 


ABELARD 

A  son — to  me? 


ACT  IV]        ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  211 

HELOISE 

At  veiled  Argenteuil 
My  joy  and  sorrow  knew  its  height  and  depth. 

ABELARD,  staggering  to  his  feet 
He  lives? 

HELOISE 

They  took  him  in  his  earHest  hours, 
But  I  in  secret  watch  him  in  the  world. 
The  Church  possesses  him — he  grows  in  strength. 
He  knows  not  of  us  nor  suspects  his  birth. 

ABELARD,  reeling  and  raising  his  hands  triumphantly  to 
the  sky 
At  last!    O  thou  uneven  thing  in  the  air 
Made  like  a  balance.  Justice,  I  have  conquered 
And  all  the  leaden  evil  is  outweighed. 

ru  go — 

He  totters  and  sinks  down  upon  the  ledge. 

Ha — weakness — on  an  hour  like  this? 
Raise  me  and  lead  me  to  him  from  this  darkness. 
Into  his  hands  the  battle  shall  be  given: 
His  heritage,  the  star  that  I  have  clutched  at, 
Shall  be  laid  on  him  as  a  white  commission. 
And  for  his  battle-cry  and  holy  banner 
For  shield,  for  fortress,  he  shall  have  the  word 
Of  commendation  I  await  from  Rome! 
For  it  is  true  he  cannot  fight  without 
That  sure  defence. 


212  ABELARD  AND  HELOISE        [act  iv 

HELOISE 

O  my  World,  hold  and  stay 
From  plunging  on  this  unknown  orbit  now. 

ABELARD 

The  fires  he  sheds  shall  warm  my  frozen  way. 

HELOISE 

I  know  not  where  he  is.    We  could  not  find  him. 
His  road  is  chosen.     We  must  not  fetter  him. 

From  the  road  that  leads  dowtt  into  the  valley  a  sound  has 
been  heard  growing  as  oj  many  people  approaching.  Wild 
cries  are  heard,  Abelard  and  Heloise  stand  listening. 
The  tumult  increases.  Enter  a  throng  oj  people  from  the 
vcdley,  yelling  taunts  and  pointing  derisively  hack  along 
the  road.  Some  oj  them  throw  sticks  and  stones  in  that 
direction.  They  cross  the  stage  and  exeunt  noisily.  En- 
ter jrom  the  valley  Astrolobus,  the  object  oj  their  insults. 
He  staggers  wildly  along  the  road,  covered  with  dust  and 
bruises.  Heloise  has  stood  stricken  with  apprehension 
since  the  noise  began.  She  now  starts  on  beholding  him. 
He  sees  her,  stops  and  addresses  her  fiercely.  Abelard 
is  still  seated  on  the  ledge  back  oj  Heloise^  his  eyes  fixed 
on  Astrolobus.     It  is  twilight. 

ASTROLOBUS 

Staring  at  Heloise, 
Ah,  you — you —    I  have  often  seen  your  face, 
But  now  I  know  you,  what  you  are  to  me. 
Well  shameless  cause,  look  on  your  shamed  effect. 
For  I  am  outcast,  bloody,  spit  upon. 


ACT  IV]        ABELARD  AND  HELOISE  213 

I  know  your  story  out  of  common  ballads. 
Why?    Why?    Say  in  what  way  had  I  unborn 
Ever  done  injury  to  you  or  wronged  you 
That  you  should  body  forth  my  soul  in  shame? 

Enter  Malart  also  from  the  valley  road.  He  goes  with 
triumphant  malice  to  Ahelard  and  gives  him  the  excom- 
munication, Ahelard  stares  at  it,  clutches  at  his  breast 
and  sinks  prostrate  on  the  ledge  behind  Heloise,  who  has 
not  even  noted  the  entrance  of  Malart,  but  stands  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  Astrolobus,  who  continues.     Exit  Malart, 

Unjust,  unjust.     My  earthly  life  is  gone, 
And  holy  writ  has  said  that  such  as  I 
Cannot  inherit  ever  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 
Oh,  I  have  been  ambitious,  I  loved  hfe; 
I  would  have  outshone  morning.     I  breathed  rain- 
bows. 
I  have  exhorted  men  to  win  the  cross, 
And  now  they  will  and  I'll  not  be  the  reason. 
I  must  go  scorned,  gnashing  to  the  dark. 
You  planted  foul  seeds  darkly  long  ago 
And  I'm  the  fruitage.     Well,  then,  I'll  taste  bitter: 
May  that  same  darkness  be  your  dwelling  always. 
May  unappeasable  despair  forever 
Gnaw  you.    Burn.    Freeze.    Never  forget  my  words. 
May  they  make  hell  a  respite  from  your  torment. 

Starting  to  go. 
Lost,  lost!    Where's  justice?     Who  will  pity  me? 

Exit  along  the  road. 


214  ABELARD  AND   HELOISE        [act  iv 

HELOISE,  starting  wildly  after  him 
Ah,  no,  no — Astrolobus! 

He  does  not  return.  She  turns  slowly  and  sees  Ahelard 
prone  upon  the  ledge. 

Abelard ! 

She  goes  swijtly  to  him^  bending  over  him. 

This  is  not  all.  There's  no  surrender  now. 
We  must  not  lose  him.  He  at  least  shall  be 
Won  from  the  field  if  we  still  fight  for  him. 

She  pauses f  staring  at  him^  then  sees  the  excommunication. 
She  picks  it  up,  opens  it  and  reads. 

What's  this?    Your  freedom — I  will  share  it  with 

you 

Look    up!     Only    believe  —  here's    hope  —  Look! 

Waken ! 

She  bends  aver  him,  looks  at  his  jace,  takes  his  hand  and  puts 
her  head  to  his  breast,  listening.  She  rises,  clutching  her 
brows  and  looking  upward. 

Can  this  be  all? 

She  pauses,  then  looks  again  at  Abelard. 

No,  no.     It  is  the  doubt, 
The  doubt  that  numbs  us  and  makes  all  defeat. 
But  I — believe! 

She  leans  over  Abelard^ s  body,  embracing  it. 


ACT  IV]        ABELARD  AND   HELOISE  215 

This  is  not  twilight  now. 
You  are  about  me  brightly  in  the  air. 
Shine,  then,  upon  this  altar  while  I  lay 
New  vows  upon  it  of  more  service  to  you. 

She  looks  up. 

For  I'll  live  on  and  seek  him  out  and  win  him 
Before  I  follow  you  to  other  fields. 
So  hear  me  where  you  now  are  and  be  strong. 
Keep  up  the  battle  till  I  come  to  you, 
And  watch,  protect,  and  shield  him. 
She  turns  her  gaze  again  upon  Abelard's  rigid  jorm, 

Abelard! 


Curtain. 


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